


Take Up Her Sword, Raise Her Shield

by TheAntiHero



Category: Romeo x Juliet (Anime)
Genre: Altered Character, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 124,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9379181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAntiHero/pseuds/TheAntiHero
Summary: She held her glory in two simple names;The Iris her Sword,The Rose her Shield.One bore her hope; it swore evil would pay,The other bore peace; it set calamity at bay.Yet one fateful night, there would be a disruption,When The Shield became greedy and ached for destruction.Her kingdom went up in flames, the innocents burned,The Iris then wilted; brown it turned.The Rose and The Iris, no longer intertwined,Parted ways, death inclined.She lost her hope,She bore no peace,She became distraught, lending darkness her lease.The Rose grows on, even to this day,It strangles and chokes, killing those with a say.But even in these ashes with only decimation in its wake,A sprout, in the ground, its place shall take;An Iris for Neo Verona's sake.





	1. The Beginning of the End of the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written: August, 2015  
> This is a long story I wrote for the long-dead fandom of the 2007 anime, "Romeo X Juliet". To be entirely honest, I'd be surprised if anyone actually read this. Nonetheless, do be aware of the originally written date and take note of its age in comparison to the publication date. Yes, it has been a while, and one could easily see the difference in the writing style.
> 
> Thanks to a ridiculously vague summary, I'm sure you are likely wondering what this mess is about. Here I am to tell you, even though the summary could've easily done the job for me. This story is what you would call a 'deviant' of the anime, which is already a 'deviant' of Shakespeare's famous play, "Romeo and Juliet". I liked the anime, but I suppose some sort of egotistical bubble in my mind decided I could make it better with a few, but huge, alterations. Here's something I need to make clear: this is not a retelling or novelization of the anime. Not. For the most part, this is a completely original story inspired by the events in the anime. You may recognize some scenes because they are reminiscent of those in the anime, but they are not completely the same. 
> 
> Thank you, and please enjoy.

Knocking on the door; it was a simple thing to do, a simple task to carry out. Yet today, it wasn't as simple. The situation was different. It was alarming, it made him frightened and wish nothing had happened; nothing quite like this. he didn't want to be the one knocking on the door, the one relaying information. Not this information. He wasn't sure how he'd take it. What would be the after effect? What will become of the kingdom now? What if-

  
The door opened.

  
He stood there; the new archduke, young and without wrinkles, swaddled in a plush, spotless robe. He had sweet, silky blue hair, dampened by a shower, and a pair of steely green eyes which fixed themselves upon the man. They rushed him. They pushed him. They made him tremble and shake.

  
"Your... Your Majesty..." He kneeled. "I beg your pardon for interrupting your bath, but you must listen to me, the-"

  
"You are sluggish when getting to your point, Mercutio." he grumbled. "You know waiting displeases me. Hurry up with it."

  
"Your Majesty. Your father..."

  
"What of him? Has the man grown too lazy to tell me whatever he wants in person?"

  
"No, Your Majesty... He is dead. The Archduke of Neo Verona is dead."

 

 

_Neo Verona; the finest country in the land._

_Without its balance, havoc is at hand,  
_

_  
What once was so beautiful, so perfect, so neat,_

_  
It came falling to pieces with one simple cheat._

 

 

_She held her glory in two simple names;_

_  
The Iris her Sword,_

_  
The Rose her Shield._

_  
One bore her hope, it swore evil would always pay,_

_  
The other bore peace, it set calamity at bay._

 

 

_Yet one fateful night, there would be a disruption,_

_  
When The Shield became greedy and ached for destruction._

_  
Her kingdom went up in flames, the innocents burned,_

_  
The Iris then wilted; brown it turned._

 

 

_The Rose's thorns grew, they grew without tame,_

_  
They stabbed the people, the country the same._

_  
And all of the sudden, with pain it couldn't bare,_

_  
The land became dark, painted with despair._

 

 

_The Rose and The Iris, no longer intertwined,_

_Parted ways, death inclined._

_  
She lost her hope,_

_  
She bore no peace,_

_  
She became distraught, lending darkness her lease._

 

 

_The Rose grows on, even to this day,_

_  
It strangles and chokes, killing those with a say._

_  
But even in these ashes with only decimation in its wake,_

_  
There in the ground, a sprout its place shall take;_

_  
An Iris for Neo Verona's sake._

 

 

It was official, declared without even the slightest doubt; Lord Leantes Van DeMontague, Archduke of Neo Verona, her tyrant, was dead. Murdered. Murdered by the butcher, for his carving knife was found in the bullseye of his chest. It hit the papers with impact beyond measure, sweeping the country, filling the hearts of her citizens with astonishment, nearly disbelief.

  
He was dead. Neo Verona's tyrant was dead; killed in his own bedroom. The Rose was dead. The crimson bloom was covered in crimson, he would soon darken and grow frail. Even the slightest touch to his petals would shed his pride away; it would crumble to the ground and wither. Frgaments would blow away like ashes, soon to be forgotten forever; but his scent lingered, and with time, it became musty, a scent that clung tightly to flesh.

  
The tyrant was dead; the people should be celebrating, yet they refused. They remained locked in their homes, leaving the streets cold and bare, their mouths remaining shut and their hands finicky and upset. Neo Verona's tyrant was dead, and yet, she did not smile. Her lands did not brighten, her pleasure was not there, her beauty had yet to return. She bore new problems. She trembled as he strode down the hall. He held his head high, shoulders embraced by a robe which trained far after his heels, dragging along in his wake like a royal blue river. Men stood along his path, knees planted to the ground, necks craned down with fear; none dared to raise their gaze, for they, just as Leantes, would surely be struck dead. He reached the throne, head not once bowing, and there he stood, gazing sternly upon the man in front of him. He was young; his face bore not one wrinkle, chin not decorated by bits of hair. He stood stoutly and proudly, eyes demanding respect, a small, barely tangible smirk spread across his lips. It was a smirk of satisfaction.

  
The other man gazed at him as well, his eyes uncertain. They eyed the boy up and down, refusing to accept that he had no choice in his possession. He then looked to another man at his side, kneeling face down, offering up a treasure not a soul could not covet. He took the prize, a golden crown adorned with sapphires, and humbly brought it to the boy's head, bestowing it upon him.

  
But suddenly, catching the audience by surprise, the boy reached up along with the man, meeting the crown as it hovered above his head. He held it himself, then rest the headpiece upon him without help from the man, a stoic look in his eye.

  
"I needn't another man to bestow what is mine unto me." he spoke lowly. "What is mine is mine, and I will exercise it whenever and however I wish. Not a single man has power over me. Not a single man holds me tame. I act according to my will, and my will only."

  
The man stood still terrified just as Neo Verona. He gave him a nod, knowing there wasn't a thing he could say nor do against him, and kneeled in submission.

  
"Yes, Your Majesty." he whispered at his feet. "Yes."

  
And from that day forth, Neo Verona bore a new Rose. It was a large rose, a rose which constricted the country, it gave it no room to breath. This Rose was not crimson like a normal rose, nor was it pink, nor orange, nor white; this Rose was black, darkened by the unfathomable force which was darkness. The lust for power. The hunger for blood.

  
From that day forth, Neo Verona received her newest ruler: Romeo Candore Van DeMontague.

 


	2. Montagues No More

Yes, it was obvious, it was obvious from the start; The Rose was truly the one who brought his father to his knees and struck him dead in his bedroom, only few held doubts. The people were convinced by the smirk which always formed across his lips, the stoutness he stood, even the emotion he lacked at his own father's memorial. He lied to his people between his own teeth, not shedding a single tear; he stood over his old man's casket without even batting his eyes.

  
"My people, my people of Neo Verona, I take pleasure in expressing my utmost gratitude for providing your respects to my father this morning."

  
Every man, woman and child was forced to attend. Any person found in the streets or in their households were captured and pulled to their demise.

  
"How my heart truly aches to see such a loved one go, but all of our time here on this earth is set the moment we are bestowed upon the earth. Thus, his death was unavoidable. We shall miss Leantes dearly as he departs from us this bitterly cold morning, but there mustn't be a need to become ill-natured."

  
The people were silent; not a soul was found weeping, yet their faces were dull, their eyes held worry.

  
"Today shall be the day a new era is brought about. I shall resume in my father's place as Archduke of Neo Verona. Our enemies shall tremble at our name. Justice shall ring in every acre of the land. Freedom will destroy the shackles of tribulation. Evil shall not prosper, truth shall always prevail!" He spoke with such passion, yet lacked in truth. He knew that. They knew that. He knew they knew that. He didn't care.

  
It was a dark day for Neo Verona indeed; a day which promised darker days henceforth. She wept that day, she wept at the sight of her ruler standing before her beloved people, who all watched with mutual expressions.They knew what was coming. They knew nothing could be done to stop it.

  
But even in such a desolate wasteland destroyed by flames and tangled in thrones, there grew a little sprout of an Iris, a little Iris which grew silently, yet quickly, all without the Rose's notice. It was beautiful and white, destined for greatness, destined to frighten away the blackness which consumed the once lovely Neo Verona. It was her Hope. The Iris was the last of her name, Juliet Fiamatta Ars DeCapulet.

Juliet was a bit of an odd duckling to the crowd though; as a matter of fact, she wasn't even known as Juliet to the public, she was known as a boy named Odin. She had been forced into hiding, hiding away from the Rose which pursued her so violently, aching for her blood, longing for her destruction. Not a soul could know her true identity, lest she be taken away to her doom by the Carabinieri, none but a few she held close to her heart, those that took her away from her death shortly after her family's killing; a group of the last remaining Capulet loyalists.

  
The loyalists watered the Iris daily; they tended to her, they removed the weeds, they brushed away the constricting thorns, they made sure she grew healthy and steadily, all in hopes that one day, she would reclaim what is hers and restore Neo Verona to her former glory. ...Yet their job was difficult; Juliet was a tomboy, she loved to go out and stick her head in the face of danger with a grin and toy with it, get it revved up and have it chase after her like an angry hound, where she would barely have her life saved by one of them. She was a risky person, one who didn't ponder upon the consequences. Most deemed her rather foolish.

  
The Iris was a happy little thing too, though. She had plenty of friends, friends that the loyalists had connections with, friends who would lend them a hand and went out of their way to assist them in their goal, for they to shared the ideal of The Iris reigning over Neo Verona once more. They were friends that were loyal, they were friends that were dear and special.

  
"Good afternoon, Willy." she opened the door of the theater, where she found him sitting in one of the seats, gazing off into space with a child hovering over his shoulder just a row behind him. The child, the small but mature Antonio, her partner in crime, greeted her with a smile.

  
"Good afternoon, Odin." he waved. "By goodness are you here just in time; Willy here needs help with his play about pants!"

  
"Oh will you be quiet, you? It is about more than just pants!"

  
"Truly? Then why won't you just explain it to me if it crawls beneath your skin?"

  
"I already told you! It is a matter you've yet to reach the age to understand!" the man paused when she arrived at his side, where he smiled. "Ah, good afternoon, Odin. Have a nice time out in town?"

  
Her face darkened as she took a seat next to Antonio, where she buried her hands between the cushion and her legs and leaned forwards.

  
"Of course not, Willy." she replied. "I was attending the memorial service for the late Archduke." she paused as her eyes widened in realization. "For Heaven's sake, where were the two of you? Weren't you at the memorial service as well?"

  
Willy leaned back in his seat and released a yawn.

  
"Why no, young Antonio and I were both settled down in here. You wouldn't believe it, boy! I was walking along the back of my stage with Antonio here by my side and suddenly, as if God himself had sent a pigeon to my brain, the most brilliant idea came to mind! Oh, Odin, it was superb! I simply had to ink it down on a sheet of tree for the sake of my career, but as soon as I had my quill prepared before a fresh canvas, it was gone! My brilliant idea is gone and I simply cannot retrieve it!"

  
Antonio leaned against the seat next to the man from behind.

  
"Yeah. You wouldn't believe it, Odin. He spent almost thirty minutes in its entirety tossing mess around, hoping it would jog his memory. I stayed behind to help, but even then, still nothing came to be."

  
Juliet sat there, horrified.

  
"You both are trying to explain to me that you failed to attend the Archduke's memorial over a stupid idea?"

  
"Now, now, Odin. Stupid isn't a kind word to use."

  
"Don't tell me that, Willy! Your heads could have been cut clean off should the Carabinieri had come breaking your door down! How ignorant of you both!"

  
She left the theatre silent, Antonio with concern in his eyes and the playwright before her, gazing up at his stage with a face of hesitation. His face became grim, and easily, he peered over his shoulder, eyeing the young girl.

  
"To be honest, young Odin, I don't think either of us would have minded to have our heads cut in half like cabbages."

  
"How can you say such a thing?"

  
Willy's face remained calm, gazing at her with sincerity.

  
"I'm aware. Antonio's aware. I'm quite sure even you are aware; Neo Verona is performing her final act, young Odin; she is drawing to a close very soon. She cannot continue on like this with her fields abused and her people worn and her head corrupt. I would rather die than attend a ceremony where I would have to gaze into the face of the one who will gut my home of her love, peace and joy. I would rather die than listen to what he has to say with those empty, ill-crafted words of his. I do not need a piece of his mind; believe me, darkness can be very contagious if you let your guard down for even a moment." his eyes narrowed. "Tell me, you gazed into the face of him, did you not?"

  
Juliet sat still, frozen with tension as she blinked a time or two, simply unable to relax.

  
"The face of whom, Willy?" she inquired.

  
"The face of our new Archduke of course. Our Romeo Candore Van DeMontague." 

  
"I've been told so many negative things about him... Especially from Conrad, Curio and Francisco, but..." her shoulders dropped. "He looked so young. My age. He looked too young to be taking on this kind of responsibility. To be ruling over all of Neo Verona. When I gazed into his face, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside of him. What he was thinking. How the death of his father must have affected him..."

  
"Tyranny. The boy wants nothing but tyranny, Odin." Willy turned back around to face his stage. "I've studied and created characters almost all of my life, therefore I know what a man's intent is merely by gazing into his eyes. The boy wants absolute power all to himself. He is worse than his father, so much worse that many are starting to believe it was Romeo himself that killed him, not the local butcher who was framed. Something needs to be done about this boy or else the final chapter of Neo Verona will be written, and she will not have a happy ending."

  
Antonio leaned back in his seat and stretched, rubbing his eyes in the meantime.

  
"Not to mention he is a pitiful boy in person too. People say he horribly mistreats women and refuses to act like a gentleman." he chortled. "Best of luck to him if he wishes to be happily married!"

  
Willy suddenly bolted from his seat, sending papers, quills and a jar of ink flying away.

  
"Ah ha!" he exclaimed in victory. "That's it, young Antonio boy! The idea I've forgotten! The girl, she's betrothed to another man already, even when she had just fallen in love with another man while at the ball! Brilliant! Simply brilliant!" he whirled around. "And not only is that brilliant, you've also got a brilliant point yourself; the boy will probably not get married at all; he hates women to death! Do you know what that means?"

  
Juliet grinned and rushed up as well, just as Antonio.

  
"No children! No more Montagues!" 

And with the clap of the hand, they started to celebrate; they shouted happily and merrily, exclaiming, singing songs of joy;

  
_"Montagues no more! Montagues no more! On the day of lore when The Rose is gored, there'll be Montagues no more!"_


	3. One in the Same

Juliet was a very fortunate girl, even for one to have her family slaughtered by the hand of The Rose. She was happy before her sixteenth birthday, and she continued to be happy even after her sixteenth birthday. It was on this day, just days after the murder of Leantes, she stood in the midst of her family's crypt, surrounded by her loyalists, each kneeling before her in humble honor of her name. She bore the Capulet sword in her grip, confusion branding her face, if not worry, as she gazed out at them all, listening as they chanted their praise and loyalty to her, vowing their weapons and their lives for her sake.

  
"You are the last remaining Capulet after the massacre which occurred fourteen years ago." Conrad whispered amongst the crowd, head bowed in respect. "And since then, we have all taken the duty of raising you on our shoulders, accepting the consequences that would surely come should we ever be captured. We pledge our loyalty to you, Juliet Fiamatta Ars DeCapulet, and we pledge our lives to you, Neo Verona's Hope. Neo Verona's future."

  
This had been the very first time Juliet had heard her entire name said unto her. For almost all her life, she hadn't been told anything about herself. Why she had to disguise as a boy named Odin. Why she was never given a surname. Why she never had a father or a mother just as the other children in the city. Why she was to never go near the Carabinieri. It all made perfect since in one night.

  
Francisco and Curio stood side by side, no more than a meter away from where she stood before the crowd, both kneeled as the rest, their eyes shut tightly with passion and fury.

  
"The one that resides in the castle is the one who took it wrongfully." Curio muttered lowly, almost angry. "What he treats as his is not his. This kingdom does not belong to Romeo Candore Van DeMontague. Nothing but the worms of the earth is due to the house of Montague! What he claims to be his own is yours, Lady Juliet!" he raised his head to gaze at her with his single eye. "And because of that, I will not retire until Neo Verona has what is truly hers! Her rightful ruler! I will not retire until the Montague line is gone from this place! Let it be!"

 

"Let it be! Let it be! Beneath the Iris Banner, Let it Be!"

  
It all came as a shock to the Iris. She had been oblivious to such a thing all her life. The Montague boy came to her mind over and over again. Over and over.

  
"He looked so young. My age. He looked too young to be taking on this kind of responsibility. To be ruling over all of Neo Verona. When I gazed into his face, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside of him. What he was thinking."

  
The speech he made at his father's memorial. The passion in his tone, the fury in his eyes, the tenseness of his body as he made promise after promise. How he swore he would better Neo Verona, that justice would prevail, that freedom would ring, that famine would reach extinction. Was it all truly lies? Or did he mean the truth? She wanted to believe him; oh how she wanted to offer him her sympathy.

  
"I believe he and I share more in common than meets the eye."

  
Cordelia had just finished lathering Juliet's hair with shampoo when the thought suddenly escaped her lips; it caught Cordelia's attention rather quickly, causing her to lean in closer and anchor a brow.

  
"And just who exactly is this 'he' you babble over?" she inquired.

  
Juliet's face colored, then she slowly sank lower into the tub, allowing more of her face to become consumed by water.  
"Oh dear..." she whispered. "Did I mutter that aloud?"

  
"Yea indeed." Cordelia raised up from her stool and went to fetch the bar of soap resting atop the sink nearby, but her eyes didn't leave the girl for long. "Now tell me, who are you thinking about?"

  
The girl's eyes wandered away.

  
"N-Not a soul, Cordelia, I-"

  
"Don't lie to me like that." she handed her the soap. "You already made me curious. Be courteous, would you? Explain to me."  
With a sigh, Juliet sank deeper, embarrassment creeping more across her face in the form of a blush.

 

"The Montague boy. That Romeo fellow."

  
Cordelia froze, staring at the back of the girl's head with a look of unsettlement plastered across her face. Noticing the silence, Juliet dared to peer over her shoulder, gazing over at the woman's expression with worry, fearing immediate judgement and potential shaming that would soon rain on her like volcanic ash sent up into the air. But instead, thank goodness for her, Cordelia's concerned face became tame as she slowly began to relax, a sense of bafflement lingering.

  
"The Archduke..." she echoed lowly in disbelief. "You believe you share a sense of common nature with him. I beg of you to explain to me that you were simply being a jest."

  
"Nay, I was not, Cordelia." Juliet turned back around. "He is young just as I and is taking over the duties as the head of a house."

There was a knock at the door.

  
"Hey, Miss Cordelia?" It was Antonio, yet neither of them responded. "Is it true Odin's really a girl? Does that mean I still can't come in?"

  
"Not only that, but he is preparing to rule over an entire kingdom, Cordelia. He says he wants to do the best for Neo Verona and yet he is so young. If I am truly the daughter of Capulet and the rightful heir to the throne of Neo Verona, I too should begin to prepare to rule over her, and my intentions are pure. I want the best for Neo Verona's people, therefore the Montague boy and I share quite a number of ideals in common."

  
"Cordelia? What is your reason for your lack of response? Is it because I'm too young or something? Wherefore must it be because I am too young?"

  
Cordelia heaved a sigh and allowed her shoulders to sink, and her eyes, dull as can be, stared directly at the wooden floor beneath her feet, gazing at its glossy and mirror-like finish.

  
"Oh Juliet..." she whispered. "How I wish there was a way I could explain it to you... The boy is an excellent liar. He knows how to manipulate, how to convince, how to steal without punishment. You mustn't listen to him, you mustn't trust nor believe in him. He may behave humble now, but soon, through the test of time, he shall surely show his true colors; they are ugly and gray. The boy has already murdered his own father and is going to hang the innocent butcher tomorrow for a crime he never committed. Perhaps time doesn't even need to test him."

  
"There isn't even a single lick of proof that leads you all to such a conclusion, Cordelia. Perhaps he never murdered his father at all, we may never know."

 


	4. Confessions of a Rose

"Y-Your Majesty?"

  
The Rose turned around, once gazing out the window, admiring the lovely sunset of the evening, but now unto the man behind him, the man stood tall, a few years older in age. He could see the fear in his eyes, the worry, the intimidation; he could almost smell it. It made his eyes harden and his muscles relax, a playful expression spreading across his face.

  
"Good evening, Mercutio." 

  
Mercutio gave him a timid bow, shoulders stiff with worry.

  
"Likewise for you, Your Highness." he rose again as he slowly approached the other boy's side. "I-I see that you requested something of me. A summons? How may I be of service to you?"

  
"Here's what I want of you, Mercutio. I want you to stand here next to me."

  
Mercutio rushed to his side, head turned out the huge window-wall of the Archduke's room, gazing out at a lovely view of the city painted gold from the setting sun. His heart beat grew fast.

  
"It has been a long while since we last spoke to one another in person, has it not, Mercutio?" 

  
"Indeed, Your Majesty."

  
"I presume you recall our days of when we were younger? The days in which we would spend our time flying our steeds down to the creek to play? The days in which we would spend our time playing hide-then-seek around the castle? The days in which we would spend our time talking over a cup of tea in the southern courtyard?"

  
Mercutio gave him a nod, even though the truth was something he knew very deep down. The reason why those days even existed.

  
"Why yes, I do recall." he replied. "I recall them very well."

  
Romeo used him. He used him when they were younger.

  
"Excellent." Romeo smirked. "I have been thinking for a little while now, Mercutio. I would like to renew those days. I would like to have you by my side as a friend again, Mercutio." he turned his head to gaze at him. "Forgive me for behaving the way I did the last time we saw one another. My temper truly got the best of me and it was relentlessly untamable. I promise it shall never happen again."

  
Romeo used him when they were younger. Mercutio was a mechanism to him. One to cope with. One that was thrown away when his purpose was served. Mercutio had been angry with him since. He knew to never trust him ever again. The words which left The Rose's mouth made him angry, they made him upset, they made his fists tighten and his shoulders tense.

  
"Wherefore?" he asked. "Have you decided that you need another person to blame? Am I your spare butcher?" Romeo fell silent, an emotionless gaze set on the boy. "Do not behave as though I know not of what I speak. Every soul here knows full and well that the butcher did not murder your father; it was you yourself. You are the culprit, you are the criminal. Give me a reason why I should wish to renew a friendship that was never a friendship in the first place!"

  
Romeo turned away, a smirk still in its place. He stood still for a while, a while which seemed long and forever, one that caused Mercutio to begin having regrets, regrets which made warmth pool in his belly.

  
"Butcher. Me. My father. What does it matter?" The Rose turned back to him, then grew closer to him, pressing against him in a threatening manner. "I am the Archduke of Neo Verona, Mercutio. What can you do to prove I killed my father? What can you do to me once you find a way?" he placed a hand on the man's shoulder, then brought his face to his own, the smirk refusing to leave. "As a matter of fact, I think I shall say this to enforce my point; the murderer Archduke Leantes Van DeMontague was none other than I, Romeo Candore Van DeMontague. Now tell me, what will you do about that?"

  
Mercutio stood still, horrified.

  
"Your sins shall some day catch up to you. I may not do anything to you, but God certainly will."

  
"Then let that be a matter between the two of us while you keep your nose in your own business, Mercutio." he turned back over to the window, gazing out to the city. "Now as I was saying, dear friend, I gaze out to this city and remind myself of how large my kingdom is. How will I, being only one mortal man, be able to govern it with only my mere wit on its own? I only have so much time on my hands, only so much memory, only so much sleep. That is why I ask you to come to me, Mercutio. Henceforth, you shall be my royal advisor. You shall gather all information from the kingdom and relay it to me. You shall assist me in reaching my goals. You shall handle all affairs I've simply not the time for."

  
Mercutio grew tenser than before, baring an expression of grief.

  
"And if I decline the opportunity?"

  
Romeo remained still, eyes wide with a fierce look in his eyes.

  
"Then you can expect to share the same fate as my dear unfortunate father. My, it may even be worse, I'm not sure, but you can count on it being very unpleasant and unescapable as hell." he looked at him again. "So tell me, Mercutio, what will your decision be? I know it is you whom I intend to do the advising, but I would not suggest the latter offer."

  
Mercutio felt the bridge of his nose crumple, and his fists, once loose and timid, curled up into fists, and his teeth began to grind against one another, threatening to shatter at any moment. He shut his eyes in grief, then directed his face to the floor, anger welling up inside of him, flooding every liter of his body.

  
"You..." he snarled. "You confounded son of that wench, Portia..."

  
A sting erupted in his cheek, then pain spread across his face like the sting of a wasp, it had a force powerful enough to make him grunt. Then, suddenly, a fist wrapped around the collar of his tunic and jerked him forwards. His gaze was met with the steely green eyes of Leantes... Except they weren't Leantes', but for a moment, he could have sworn the man rose from his newly buried coffin and stood before him, furiously gazing into his soul with his cold, lifeless pupils.

  
"I will not be tolerating that kind of language, Mercutio. Not here. Not in regards to my mother. You save that for your idiots at the tavern." he growled as his grip tightened. "Drop to your knees and thank your god that I am feeling merciful today. Thank him that I had not decided to send you to Hades the moment you unleashed your spiteful tongue armed with such a backlash. I will give you one last chance, Mercutio. Make a decision."

  
The man trembled again, biting his lips as he sank out of the boy's grip and on to the floor, hanging his head over his knees at the Archduke's feet. He heaved heavily, over and over, angrily, yet afraid of what would happen to him. Ever so slowly, while drenched in sweat, he nodded his head against his own will, begging for mercy.

  
"Y-Yes, My Lord." he whimpered. "Yes. I beg your pardon. I shall do as you wish. I shall do as you say."

  
The smirk on The Rose's face returned triumphantly, boldly, proudly, as he gazed down at the man toiling on the ground. A deep chortle started to rumble in his throat, begging to be set free, and it was only so long before he gave it permission to the outside.

  
"Excellent choice, Mercutio. I held confidence that you were a smart man all along."


	5. Enter the Red Whirlwind

The Rose was already growing, and he was growing fiercely, choking Neo Verona like a snake, preparing to eat his prey as time went on. She was growing close to becoming a prison, a place where her people could not escape or rest, a place where toil went on from dawn until dusk, a place where grief grew more prominent. The Rose's thrones were growing lethal; the day of judgement on the innocent came near, it was the day the butcher would receive his penalty. Eye for an eye, death for death. The Rose demanded he be killed, and not just killed in private, but in the public so that all could witness him pay for his crime against Neo Verona herself.

  
Her citizens gathered all around the platform in the center of the capital; they gathered all around, flooding the streets, all baring eyes of worry and anger. Justice was not being served, freedom was not ringing; they all knew that, they all knew what was true, and that was their reason for attending. They shouted to the Carabinieri with fury, shaking their fists in the air, spitting curses and growing unruly. They attended because they knew the butcher was innocent. They attended because they knew they had to show that they would not tolerate it.

  
The Rose stood at the edge of the platform, his head held high, his hands behind his back, his eyes gazing intently at the scene; the butcher, confided by wooden shackles, his head bound by the same, unable to escape the blade above his neck, swearing his beheading. Mercutio stayed at his side, looking worried as he gazed about himself, listening to the screaming of the people, watching them as they stood before the platform as they fought with the Carabinieri, who fought back and kept them away with their swords and spears.

  
"Your Majesty." he eyed the Archduke. "It is I who is your royal advisor, correct?"

  
"Indeed, Mercutio."

  
"I would like to input a suggestion then. This idea you deem 'justice' is losing your favor with the people of your kingdom. Look at them; they know the truth, they know the man is as innocent as a hound. They shout in anger at you, they shout curses unto your name and spit upon your honor; this idea is wretched. You simply must cease it for the sake of your people's loyalty."

  
The Rose simply smiled and shook his head.

  
"Nay, Mercutio." he replied. "This is the man who killed my father. Injustice shall not prevail in my land. If one murders one, he too shall be put to death for the sake of the people's safety and for the sake of justice. Let the man suffer for the grief he has stricken us all with."

  
Mercutio simply could not believe his ears; even he, the advisor, was being lied to, even when it was clear he knew the truth.  
None of the others in the crowd seemed to have bought the idea either, they all continued to scream, they all continued to shout in anger, growing more and more restless by the moment. And as expected, out of respect, the Iris' loyalists attended as well, each of them gazing out at the scene with a pitiful look in their eyes.

  
"Simply wretched." One muttered, Willy, as he started to massage the temple of his head with a finger. "Though I expected this as the morning's rising sun, I must say that the sight is something none could ever prepare for, even when given years in advance."

  
Curio and Conrad could do nothing but simply nod in response, looking away for a temporary solace from the situation. But Francisco, on the other hand, went against his usual calm and collected attitude and let out a growl of frustration as he whipped around to look at them.

  
"Confound it." he scoffed. "To think the fool would take this as far as it is now; to think that he would dispose of an innocent life for the sake of his lie. Are we truly going to sit idly by as this devil governs our land? We must do something before this death branches unto many more!"

  
"Calm yourself, Francisco." Curio raised his head and crossed his arms. "You know things aren't as simple as that. Getting rid of him is no walk in the park; one wrong move can easily get us removed from the equation and Neo Verona wouldn't have any hope at all then."

  
"Time shall eventually bless our harvest as Lady Juliet grows." Conrad added. "And it is us too who shall grow as well; we'll learn more about his weaknesses and recruit more people to our side. If we're lucky we might just be able to turn the whole country on him, and by that point, not even the Carabinieri can stop us from slitting his throat." he momentarily paused. "...While on the subject of Lady Juliet..." he looked around, eyeing through the crowd with a sense of urgency, soon panic. "Where the devil has that girl gone?"

  
They all started to share the same amount of worry, soon shoving trough a few civilians in hopes of finding her and her slim body or the short hair of her wig, yet, even together, they wound up without a single lead.

  
"Oh dear..." Willy turned to them. "Just to make matters worse, dear Conrad, it appears your grandson is missing as well..."  
The older man growled as he looked all around him, a grimace on his face. But then, as they continued on with their searching, Curio looked up to the tops of the buildings, where his single eye grew wide and his mouth gaped in shock; there, rushing across the rooftops, was a caped figure, crimson as blood, followed by a shorter cloaked sidekick trailing not too far behind, both racing to a common goal; the platform.

  
"Dear God..." he trailed off in horror, bringing the rest of his party's attention to the duo. "Dear God, don't let that be who I think it is!"

  
"Your Majesty." Cerimon approached the boy with a salute and his spear in hand, eyes cold and unmoving. "I have come before your presence to inform you that all preparations have been completed. The beheading will start as soon as we have your word."

  
The Rose looked out to the crowd, his smirk remaining on his face as he look a deep breathing, drinking in the scent of sheer horror and fury, then released it, slowly and smoothly, a relaxed sort of manner.

  
"Then let it be." he snorted shortly afterwards. "Off with his head."

  
The fury of the crowd continued, it grew louder as the man walked away from the Archduke and to the butcher, who gazed up at him in fear, quivering in horror, his eyes begging for mercy. The man picked up a mask on the table, then equipped a pair of gloves, wielding an axe as he approached the rope which kept the butcher's life, the rope which held the blade above his head. The man, without any thoughts before hand, raised the weapon, he raised it up high, preparing for a swing, but then, all of a sudden, there came a shout, a shout which pierced through the fury of the crowd and the screaming of the women; a shout which brought the square to a silence.

  
"Sheathe thy sword and set down thy axe lest your blood shall rust its blade! Let not evil and injustice prevail lest your souls be damned! Let the devil be gone from this place and let him not be welcomed for return lest the land be corrupt and fruitless!"

  
The crowd grew silent, watching in both awe and horror as a figure leaped from the crown of a building, gracefully plummeting over to the center of the platform with an accomplice following close behind, both with their faces concealed. The red one, the one who grasped the most attention, landed first, its sword drawn, and it rushed over to the executioner. It ignored the shouts from the Carabinieri as they rushed over to the top of the platform, the rest remaining down to handle the crowd as it pushed against them, urging to get closer as they chanted the name of their champion with joy.

  
But, before the men could reach the figure with its cape and long brimmed hat, the cloaked one stopped them just in time with a few marbles which it threw to the ground, unleashing a storm of smoke amongst them, momentarily blinding them all but the duo, who coordinated with one another. The red one rushed reached the unsuspecting executioner and clashed with him, soon sweeping the axe out of his hand and sending the weapon flying across the platform, far from anyone's reach. The partner targeted the butcher, reaching him and cutting his shackles before the blade could even have chance to plummet to his neck, and he was drug to safety.

  
The smokescreen did not last forever though; the moment it died away, granting the others their vision back, the men regained their positioning and all rushed to their foe, the red one with the cape and mask, running with a shout. The figure took them all on, one by one, disarming them systematically within seconds, sending their blades and spears flying in all directions with its partner and the newly freed butcher there to retrieve them and wield them instead. No man was scabbed, but all didn't bare a single weapon in their palms, leaving them to stand along the side of the platform, watching in horror as the figure sent the final weapon away, then retire its fighting stance with a smile on its lips, confidence gathering in its eyes.  
The Iris loyalists watched in horror too, gazing as the smokescreen faded away, allowing them to see the figure without a thing to hide it; the sight made Conrad's eyes widen, sharing the same expression as those around him.

  
"Lady Juliet! Antonio!" he shouted over the screaming and cheering of the crowd. "What the devil are they doing?"

  
It was The Iris indeed, and she bore not a single regret. Antonio stood off to the side with the butcher next to him, handling all the weapons, protecting them from the men around them with a threatening look in their eyes. Yet deep down in their faces, there was a look of victory, one which watched as the Iris returned her blade to its sheath at her hip.

  
She faced The Rose as she slowly approached him, her crimson cape fluttering in the breeze, her footsteps lightweight, yet confident as they clicked against the boards of wood, her eyes giving him an easy, triumphant gaze. Mercutio cowered at his side, shuddering as he backed away with each step closer she took, breathing nervously; yet Romeo didn't cower at all. He didn't drop to his knees, he didn't bat an eye, his hand didn't even rush to the hilt of his own blade. As a matter of fact, he continued to smirk as he eyed the foe back.

  
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty." The Iris greeted. She had never been so close to him in person, yet she looked as though she felt no fear; she only kept her guard on high, refusing to take her eyes off of him.

  
"And likewise to you." The Rose returned. His voice didn't quiver, nor did it stammer. His sentence left his lips smoothly, gracefully, almost peacefully. "Your face it foreign to me; tell me your title, stranger, and I shall call you by such."

  
The Iris didn't drop her chin, nor her smile, as she reached up to the top of her hat, which she briefly repositioned, displaying the mask which ran along the top of her face, covering everything but her eyes.

  
"I am The Red Whirlwind." she answered. "I am the Champion of Justice for the people of Neo Verona. Not a crime goes without my notice, not a soul suffers from the handiwork of evil without closure; I am here to garden the land of hope and maintain the fields of justice."

  
"Ah, The Red Whirlwind..." The Rose's smile grew sly. "A hero I've only heard of in fairy tales, a soft coo I've only heard in nursery rhymes. Tell me, Red Whirlwind, why is it that you are here? Why is it that you adopt the position of maintaining the law when there are already men doing such?"

  
"Pardon me for being frank with thee, O Archduke," she eyed the crowd. "But the men you claim keeps the peace keeps nothing but corruption; I am here because there is not a drop of justice bring delivered here. Look there, at the men you nearly killed; he is innocent. He has born five children and tends to an ill spouse, he simply has not the time to murder an Archduke such as your father. It is quite obvious that I am aware of such, you are aware of such," she gestured to the rioting people. "and it is very much so that even they are aware of such, wouldn't you agree, Your Majesty?"

  
The Rose grinned.

  
"Why of course it may appear that way, Red Whirlwind, Champion of Justice, but there are many pieces of evidence that each point to the butcher here, much including a dreaded motive." he set his hands behind his back. "Weeks before my father's death, you see, the butcher came at the door of the castle, begging that medicine be spared for his spouse for the umpteenth time, but all of our cabinets were barren of the herb used to remedy such an illness. The butcher took the results as a lie and stormed away, swearing upon his very soul that my father would soon pay for his selfishness."

  
"I rather take your claim as a lie as well." The Iris scoffed as she brought the rim of her hat down once more. "Either way, Your Majesty, this is a matter we can no longer negotiate over; I must apologize for my rash behavior, but we must be taking our leave. The butcher needs to return to his family." she turned to Antonio with haste. "Smoke! Now!"

  
And just like that, the scene became flooded with smog once again, leaving a disappeared Red Whirlwind, a disappeared cloaked boy, and a disappeared butcher in its wake. Upon seeing this, Mercutio raised his head and looked around with shock, his eyes flooded with worry.

  
"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed. "They disappeared like a specter in the night!" he turned to the men at the sides of the platform. "Attention! Members of the Carabinieri! Chase down this 'Red Whirlwind!' Search for him until the sun retires! Stop him and let his wrongful actions be brought to judgement! Capture him and-"

  
The Rose set his hand on the man's lips, hushing him with a smile, listening to the cheering of the once angry and spiteful crowd.

  
"Nay." he cancelled. "Leave them be. Let them live. Let the city have her 'Champion of Justice.' He sounds mighty healthy for the people's hope, does he not? Yea. Let him live. Let them all live."

  
Another chuckle began to rumble in his throat.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lady Juliet! What in the name of the land did you think you were doing? Did you realize how much danger you put yourself in? Did you realize that if you were to slip along the way you would surely be put to death, stealing the country's hope along with you?"

  
Conrad stood over her, gazing down at her as she sat at the table with a pair of sunken shoulders. Her mask and hat sat at upon the surface, neighboring one another under the eyes of Antonio, who sat at Juliet's side, twiddling his thumbs beneath the table.

  
Everybody was in the dining room, looking down at them as though they were criminals caught and pulled during the act, each with a frown of concern spread across their faces. Curio. Francisco. Cordelia. Conrad. All of the ones Juliet held dear, the ones she deemed family. She grew fearful of the expressions on their faces for they seemed angry, furious almost, she feared of what the consequences would be. No dinner? A mild punishment. No permission to go outside for a month? That sounded worse. Do laundry every day for half a year? How dreaded; let it be not that.

  
With a turn to his grandson, Conrad narrowed his eyes.

  
"And you, Antonio," he muttered. "I'm the most disappointed in you, letting the emotions of a woman persuade you to commit such a dangerous act. Thou art a fool, a fool who ought to be ashamed."

  
"B-But grandfather!" Antonio raised his head. "Someone had to help the poor butcher! He has an ill wife and five hungry children to feed! They simply cannot sustain themselves without him!"

  
"I agree likewise." Juliet also grew brave and looked up at him with a pair of furrowed brows. "Don't expect me to sit by and do nothing as an innocent man receives punishment for something he was never involved in! Don't expect me to sit by and do nothing as the Montague boy, who sits at my throne according to you, have his way and pluck Neo Verona's petals like a little carless girl!"

  
Curio angrily approached her with a grimace.

  
"But do you truly realize what the consequences had the potential of being? Do you realize that we could have lost you and that Neo Verona would have nothing to lean on for hope? There is only one crutch this country is standing on, and that is you, Lady Juliet. If you take a crutch away from something that cannot stand, it will fall, and when it comes crashing down, many will suffer. Is that truly what you want? Do you want for yourself to get killed?"

  
Juliet, frustrated, narrowed her eyes and allowed her head to sink back down, angrily gazing down at the glossy wooden floor. Embarrassment started to well up inside of her, filling her to the brim, making her hot and sweaty.

  
"I simply cannot believe you." Conrad crossed his arms. "And to think you've done such actions before, barely escaping each time with your neck without blemish. You fool. You fool who thinks your luck will never run dry."

  
"Now, now, old man." Francisco gave him an easy smile. "I have to compliment her and her willingness to put her life on the line for the sake of an innocent man. Her bravery is not something to be demoted, Conrad. Perhaps we should take this in a different approach."

  
"Don't encourage her, you scoundrel!"

  
"Nay, nay, I am not encouraging the lady, let us instead call it nitpicking." the man turned to Juliet with the swish of his long golden hair. "Look here, my lady; what you did out there was very dangerous."

  
She rolled her eyes.

  
"Yea, I am aware."

  
"But the attitude you have towards injustice is very healthy. Do not let this old man here dampen the flame, but please, please don't ever go out masquerading as this Red Whirlwind character again, would you? Your life is simply not something we can afford to risk right now."

  
Cordelia crossed her arms.

  
"Let the girl retire early and give her plenty of time to think over what she has done. I cannot bare to let such foolishness be ignored."

  
"Likewise for you, Antonio." Conrad added with a frown set on the boy.

  
Juliet was rather surprised; she was expecting a punishment far worse than going to bed early. The clock just rang at eighteen hundred hours no less than a few minutes ago, therefore the hour wasn't too early; in fact, this was probably the time the elderly retire, if they could do it, so could she.

  
Yet the moment she shut the door to her bedroom upstairs, shed her costume of the Red Whirlwind, changed into a simple nightgown and plopped atop her mattress, it became obvious that it would be a long while before she would be welcomed into the realm of sleep, for her eyes wouldn't be shut long before they opened again. Too much adrenaline was coursing through her veins, too many thoughts running through her head, too many repeats of words ringing in her ears. She could hear him; the Archduke. The slow, tender voice that harbored no fear as he gazed into her eyes with his steely cold green stare that made her heart seem to stop. The confidence in his tone as he crafted lies right before her, baring no morality, watching her, wanting her to trip and become intimidated.

  
The truth was, Juliet was intimidated. She didn't show it, some confidence masked it, but the poor little Iris cowered in the presence of the giant, thorn infested Rose. How claim after claim ran through her memory, reminding her of all the things she's been told of him. What Willy said; the boy thirsts for power and lusts after tyranny. What Cordelia said; he was an expert lier, a professional should it be an occupation. What Curio said; he claimed what was hers as his own, showing no remorse for such a thing. To think that the boy was no elder than she, to think that age had nothing to do with being so corrupt. To think that there was a chance she could have been the same as he.

  
There was a knock on the door, yanking her from her thoughts, evoking a quick, and unwilling, gasp as she rose from her cot, eyeing the postern. She waited for a moment, then quietly called out.

  
"Who at my door stands?" she asked.

  
"It is I, Antonio." his little voice whispered. "Might you grant me permission to visit with you?"

  
"We shall surely be given a greater punishment. Are you not supposed to be in your room?"

  
"Nay, Odi- I mean- Juliet. I have an important question to ask of thee, I simply must have an answer right away!"

  
With a sigh, Juliet sat up on her bed, then called out once more.

  
"So be it then, come in."

  
The knob of the door started to jingle, followed by a long, drawn out, creak as the postern swung around its hinges, revealing the small brunette boy in the doorway, peering inside like a small hound. He cautiously walked inside, shutting the door behind him, then approached the girl with a smile, which she happily returned.

  
"It is in my opinion that you did great today, Juliet." the boy commented, eyes bright. "The butcher's family was so grateful, it was a joyous sight to see the tears of happiness roll down their cheeks, I believe we did something wonderful today." he hopped on the bed next to her, allowing his feet to dangle over the side. But as he sat there, he grew quiet, allow his brows to furrow and his lips to frown as he gazed down at the floor in hesitation. "But I must ask thee, Juliet; you were before the Archduke, no more than meters away. Were you frightened?"

  
Juliet's head sunk.

  
"As embarrassed as I am to admit such, I was truly horrified." she answered lowly. "Wherefore do you ask? Is this the urgent question you set on a pedestal of regard?"

  
"Nay, Juliet." he swung his feet about. "You stood so close to him, up close, so personal. You remember all of those things people have said in regards to the Montague boy; he is filthy and wretched, immoral and wicked to the core. I must ask thee, Juliet, even after being told everything that has been said by people like Willy and Curio, wherefore is it that you let him live? Why did you spare him? The Carabinieri stood away, unarmed, he himself probably knew squat of swordplay; he was vulnerable, Juliet. You could have struck him dead that very moment."

  
The Iris grew silent, looking out the small window on her wall without a mighty sense of interest as to what was on the outside. Her breathing grew deep and heavy, allowing less air to travel inside, making her seem slow and sluggish.  
"Believe it or not, Antonio, I was just pondering upon this before you came knocking on my door." she moved her hands beneath her thighs, warming them of their cold and clamminess. "You are correct. It could have been simple; I could have struck the Archduke then and Neo Verona would be forever liberated from the hand of Montague. You are correct. I could have ended it all right there. I threw such an opportunity away as though it was garbage..." her shoulders sunk. "I couldn't do it, Antonio. I couldn't bring myself to kill him nor any man."

  
"But the boy is a monster!" Antonio urged. "You should feel no grief in ending one with no moral code nor mercy! Think of all the lives it could have saved!"

  
"Nay, Antonio, you don't understand." her shoulders grew tense as a memory slowly faded into her mind. "I peered inside the eyes of the beast, wondering what it would be that I would find. Perhaps I would find anger. Perhaps I would find wrath. Perhaps I would find malice. Perhaps I would find fury. I found all those things, Antonio, but there was something else, something deep within his cold green eyes, something masked behind so much corruption."

  
The boy's eyes widened as he leaned closer.

  
"Truly?" he asked. "What did you see, Juliet?"

  
"...I saw the eyes of a child. An innocent child such as yourself. The eyes of a frightened, innocent child afraid of being left alone in the dark without warmth to cling hold of. A child who cries. A child who calls out to a voice and receives no response." she looked over at him. "How could I bring myself to kill a helpless child, Antonio?"

  
The boy frowned more as he brought his hands to lace over his lap.

  
"Don't forget, Juliet." he murmured. "That is the boy who is an expert liar. For all we may have knowledge, he may have perfected his ability to capture an on looker's pity through physical characteristics for the sake of prolonging his life. Don't let your guard down, for it is during that time, as a hungry lioness, he may pounce."

 


	6. Ideas Unearthed

"Good evening, Benvolio."

  
The boy jumped at the sound of his name and quickly turned to the side, facing the direction the voice called towards. He was just observing the maids as they cleaned the ball room; was that something the Archduke would fuss over? Or does the Archduke simply desire to talk with him? What would the Archduke want with him, he wondered. Surely the boy would not bring up small talk or fire up chat over the weather. No, Romeo was a tad more serious than that; too down to the point for him to care over such irrelevant matters. Thus, Benvolio started to shake, eyeing the boy nervously.

  
"G-Good evening, Your Majesty." he was quick to drop over his knees, and hang his head before him, remaining that way until the boy approached him, stopping not even a meter away from him. "Might I be of service to you this fine day? Perhaps I can offer you-"

  
"Nay, cousin. I simply wished to speak with you."

  
"Oh truly? What of? Perhaps it is over this Red Whirlwind character the city has been working up a fuss over? I heard of you encounter with him the other day; I must say, I was shocked to discover you harbored not a single wound from the criminal."  
Romeo shut his eyes, then commanded the boy upwards, in the mean time, speaking to him.

  
"Criminal would be a wrong way to describe a face such as his..." his eyes narrowed as he gazed down to the lower level of the ballroom; the light blue dance floor which resided below the balcony, perfectly reflecting the ceiling and maids scatted above it. "...I've yet to officially sort my business out over him. Perhaps I shall give this ponder later on tonight..."

  
"But of course. However, I must ask you, what brings you to me this evening?"

  
The boy narrowed his eyes angrily.

  
"I recall establishing the rule that I do not answer questions that were not asked without my consent. Should you desire an answer, Benvolio, you should first ask me for my permission."

  
Benvolio, puzzled, eyed his cousin with a pair of anchored brows as he drew closer; he gazed into the hardened green eyes in obedience to a dare which spoke in his heart, which made him mentally shudder. Could Benvolio, Romeo's faithful and playmate of a cousin, see change in the boy over a short amount of time? Absolutely. Benvolio, like many, did not like this new Romeo, which was far worse than an already bad one.

  
"R-Rule? Permission to ask a question?" he paused in confusion. "Since when was this established, cousin?"

  
He was shocked to find the boy's hand reach out to him and take a handful of the collar of his tunic, then brought it towards his face, where he was forced to meet with the already cold, but somehow colder, green eyes. Benvolio cowered in fear, wondering what was wrong, trying to make feeble attempts to escape.

  
"Cousin. You shall never dare to refer to me as such. Before I am a cousin, I am an Archduke. I simply would have figured that you were intelligent enough to show me respect."

  
"Y-Your Majesty..."

  
"And you; forgetting the orders I have given every single blasted man and woman residing in my castle. You live here, do you not? You should have heard my words of commandment, I should not have to repeat myself, you should not make yourself look so stupid, you uneducated swine." he released the boy roughly, leaving him with his head hung low. Then, after crossing is arms behind his back, he straightened his spine. "As I was planning to inform you, cousin, I have come seeking a session of conversation with thee due to a dream I had last night as I slept. I saw my dear mother there along with her sister, your mother, peacefully talking in the garden with one another over glasses of tea; one of the first people to be mentioned was you, Benvolio, dear Lady Franchesca's only son."

  
Benvolio's head sank further down, forcing himself to become humble with an expression of grief.

  
"Oh truly..." he trailed off momentarily. "My mother, my aunt; I miss them both dearly, Your Majesty."

  
"I did not come to talk with you to mourn over the dead, Benvolio." Romeo's gaze hardened again. "Tell me how you fair, and for what reason do you linger here in the ballroom watching my maids clean like as though thou art a crazed pervert?"  
The boy's cheeks flustered upon the inquiry, making him raise his head and quickly allow his gaze to dart away, trying desperately to escape his embarrassment and from the awkwardness.

  
"I fair nicely, O Archduke... But please, take no offense nor be quick to anger, I was not here in the ballroom on behalf of watching your maids..."

  
"Then wherefore?"

  
"I was simply gazing at the ballroom, admiring its beauty. How the floors reflect its top, sharp and clear as crystal, how the pillars of the dance floor tower so high above, crafted so neatly and carefully, so skillfully, how the mural upon the ceiling above is so well placed, so rarely gazed upon, so unappreciated. How the banners of your house which hang from the balconies are woven together with mindful stitches and brilliant hue, how the plants are maintained so well and kept lively, how the marble stairs are so spotless, showing not a sign of traffic, how marvelous this room is, how underused, how left out, how poor of a chance to shine..."

  
With a sigh from his nostrils, The Rose gazed out to the room, eyeing each detail the boy told him, taking note of his truthful words and pondering upon them with a hesitant face. He then raised his shoulders and allowed his frown to deepen, momentarily baring a grim expression.

  
"Yea, I agree the ballroom is underused. Even as my father reigned, he rarely allowed it to host parties. Perhaps he took liking not of it."

  
"Rumor has it Your Majesty, it was in this very room, on that very floor, your father, fourteen years behind us, brought his sword into the heart of Capulet during the night Neo Verona changed forev-"

  
Benvolio froze when he suddenly realized what had escaped his lips and the cold, angry gaze that was set upon him, staring at him, ripping him apart on the inside. Cautiously, the boy dared to peer upon the face of his Archduke, then laced his trembling fingers together, hunched over like a plotting villain.

  
"You-Your Majesty, forgive me; that was simple slip of the tong-"

  
"You know that name is not to be said in these walls. Not in my castle, nor in my kingdom. It is confounded. It is wretched. The man who says it without hostility shall be condemned."

  
"Yes, yes, Your Majesty, it shall never happen again. I swear upon my life and my belongings, it shall never be said again."  
He watched and waited, praying that he shed grace upon him, watching in horror as the boy huffed an angry groan and eyed away, looking back down at the dance floor of the ballroom with a hesitant look in his gaze.

  
"An underused ballroom." he murmured lowly as he stiffly cocked his head to the side. "For such an illness, there is only one remedy. Benvolio, hunt Mercutio and deliver my commands for a ball to be hosted tomorrow evening. Have every noble sent an invitation; it shall be the Rose Ball, named in honor of my house and all the men who belonged to it. A masquerade ball at that, that way we all may play games and poke fun at guessing one another's identity."

  
Benvolio quickly jumped into a straight position, chest puffing out in respect.

  
"How quaint." he commented awkwardly. "But Your Majesty, it is already reached the hour of twenty two hundred; will the time left today and the amount tomorrow possibly suffice for a plausible ball to be prepared for? Everyone would be in such a panicky rush, everything will not be as lovely as it would when we had time to dress and time to spend."

  
The Rose's thorns grew relentless when he looked back down at him with fury in his eyes.

  
"When I say it shall be held tomorrow, I expect it to be tomorrow without a word of argument. Do you hold opposition to my decision, cousin?"

  
There was a long, awkward moment of silence between them before Benvolio finally sank back into his slouched position, eventually bowing once more before slowing beginning to back away.

  
"Not at all, Your Majesty. I apologize for any misinterpretations. I shall deliver your requests to Lord Mercutio as soon as I track him down."

  
And with that, he left the scene, leaving the Archduke to himself, looking down the balcony once again, leaning against the guardrail with an arm slung over it, dangling down like fish bait on a cork. His frown remained as he absentmindedly started to tap his fingers against the rim of the rail, his eyes full of thought. Sincere thought which set a profound look on his face, transforming his expression to something never seen before in a long, long while.

  
"A Rose Ball." he murmured to himself. "How I wonder how much such an event will hold..."

 


	7. The Rose Ball

"Ooooooodiiiiiiiin!"

  
She jumped at the sound of her false name with a gasp and a glob of saliva rushing down the wrong canal of her throat, leading her to cough. There wasn't a word of concern directed towards her, even when she started to hunch over, hacking as though she were ill; she expected such, for she immediately recognized the tone rushing towards her from behind.

  
This person came skipping down the hall of the theater with a bright grin on her face. Short brunette hair, a pleasant dress, baring an age just a year or so before her... It was none other than Miss Emilia, one of Willy's most prized and loyal actresses. She was bubbly as she rushed up to her, roughly slapping a hand against her back upon arrival; she obviously wanted something. Emilia always usually came up to her if she wanted something, more cases than not, she wanted to go somewhere with her because she was still one of the few in the friends jested into believing Juliet was nothing but a simple gentleman named Odin.

  
It was by this time, Willy came around the corner of the hall towing a box of fresh pieces of paper with Antonio in his wake, holding the exact same article. They lay eyes on the two with a face of confusion, almost interest, as Emilia rushed in front of the Iris, baring an expression of urgency.

  
"Odin, Odin! I need thee! I need thee so badly right now!" she exclaimed, her voice perfectly matching her expression. In response, Juliet overcame her final cough and brought herself up, baring a look of exhaustion.

  
"What be it now?" she groaned. "Haven't you already a place to be? Some ball of sort? Wherefore do you linger here in the theater, wasting your time?"

  
"Nay, you haven't a lick of understanding, young man! I cannot go alone, I am much too embarrassed and coy! There will be so many attending, so many of a higher class than us commoners! I need a man to accompany me, a man to protect me from the few nobles which prey upon me as a feline to a rodent!"

  
Both Willy and Antonio approached the two of them, the man raising a brow in the meantime.

  
"My, my, Emilia, so quick to change your mind." he adjusted his hold on his box. "I do recall you hours ago; how you ranted on and on over how you had no need for my company. What a wishy-washy young woman, I do say."

  
"Not now Willy! I needed not your company because you would surely drive away all the handsome nobles that would fall for my charming looks and beautiful personality! They would presume you are my overly protective father or overaged husband with money to flaunt!"

  
Willy's eyes widened in surprise.

  
"Overaged?" he echoed, shocked as he exchanged glances with Antonio. But just as Juliet was beginning to sneak away from the situation as the other girl's back was turned, Emilia whipped around, a look of worry on her face.

  
"Oh dear me! That would be even worse if I took you, Odin! How foolish of me! If I were to bring you along, the handsome nobles would assume you are my beloved and stray away from me, avoiding the two of us in fear that you would start a fuss should they come up to flirt!" she brought a palm to her forehead, anxiety consuming her. "Dear me, what do I do, Odin? It is not as if I could go about explaining to each young man that you are my brother; that would cost me ages of my time!"  
"Not unless Odin is your beloved all along." Antonio whispered with a snicker.

  
Juliet momentarily looked away.

  
"You could simply go without me." she suggested, ever so biased.

  
"Nay, nay! That is when the creeps come prowling around me! I do not want to deal with them alone!"

  
"If it is such a hassle, do not attend." Antonio suggested simply.

  
Angrily, Emilia whipped back around.

  
"You naive child! You've no understanding of how important this is! How many times have I been given the chance to attend a royal ball held in the castle's fabled ballroom? How many times will I be blessed with such an opportunity once again?"  
Willy's brows furrowed in hesitation has he closed his eyes, a deep sense of thought radiating from his face. Before long, as Emilia continued on with her quarreling, he raised his head with a smile.

  
"Ah, here's an idea." he eyed Juliet. "What if our Odin here dressed himself as a lovely young lady; a friend or a sister that accompanies you to the ball? He acts shy and innocent at first, but should trouble ever arise, he can easily rip of that frilly dress and display his masculinity, driving the creeps away as darkness flees from a torch! My my; what a brilliant idea, I should one day apply it to one of my works..."

  
Juliet's eyes widened in horror as Emilia paused, taking the idea in, processing it with a frown on her face, eyes wandering up in hesitation. Quickly, the girl shook her head and waved her hands before her, a blush creeping across her face.

  
"Nay, nay; that idea is preposterous." she said in attempt to deny the proposal. "I cannot dress as a woman; I am a gentleman. My pride would surely be bruised for years, Emilia."

  
"Oh, Willy!" Emilia's face grew bright. "What a genius idea! It is nothing but sold!" she whirled around one last time to grab Juliet's defeated wrist, then start to tug at her, urging her down the hall. "Come Odin! Let us rush to the costume room and prepare for the ball! It shall begin in no less than an hour, we've simply not the time! Hurry up you loon!"

  
"Emilia!" Juliet whined as she dragged her away. "But I don't want to go! I don't want to dress up!"

  
That left Willy and Antonio in the hall, standing side by side with their boxes, watching the two steer to the right into the doorframe of the dressing room. Antonio, aware of the irony in the situation, released a snicker, soon joined by Willy. They both laughed for separate reasons, but that didn't take away from the fact that Juliet was being dragged all the way over to the Rose Ball, to the castle where the Archduke surely resided.

  
Yet for some reason, Juliet didn't seem to mind dressing as a girl for once. She didn't mind finally removing her wig and allowing her long crimson hair to cascade down her back for the world to see. She didn't mind having a rose tinted dress to cover her body. As a matter of fact, she was eager; she was eager to finally act the way she was supposed to, as a young woman. It took a weight from her shoulders; she no longer felt as though she was persecuted for her name.

  
She wasn't Odin.

  
She wan't Juliet Fiamatta Ars DeCapulet.

  
She was just plain ol' Juliet, a Juliet who was allowed to twirl around with the brim of her dress fluttering in a circle around her as her hair swished along, her arms branched out with a grin across her lips.

  
"Just for tonight." she thought to herself. "Just for tonight, it would be lovely to just be a girl. For me to be who I am rather than someone I'm not."

  
Emilia was there to shatter those thoughts.

  
"Goodness gracious, Odin!" she gasped as she walked into her dressing room, where she found her gazing in the mirror, applying her makeup. "Would you look at yourself!" she set her hands on her shoulders with a giggle. "You make quite a gorgeous woman, young man. I find that a tad frightening."

  
In response to this, Juliet could do nothing but release a nervous laugh along with her.

  
Now, just because Juliet was eager to go out in town as a young woman and not a young man, that didn't mean she wasn't a tad anxious on the inside. As a matter of fact, Juliet was horrified. She couldn't keep her gaze off of the tall towers of the castle as the carriage slowly pulled up to the front of the drawbridge, her brown eyes full of both fear and wonder.

  
Here it was. It was the castle. This was the very place where so many significant things have happened, and are happening as she took every breath. Her family was slaughtered by a crazed Leantes within these walls, and his son, Romeo, sits at the throne, which was unrightfully claimed. It was here, she was supposed to reside, it was here she belonged. Instead she was marked as an outsider, cast away from the threat of death from The Rose, which had grown several menacing thorns all along its stem. Romeo was going to be at this ball, The Rose was going to be here, dancing on this floor, speaking from this balcony. For all she may know, she may encounter him up close, so close, it would almost be personal. Thank heavens it was a masquerade ball, therefore her face would be concealed, destroying all evidence and all connections to Capulet's daughter and the Red Whirlwind both. She should have had not a single reason to be afraid.

  
But still, as she and Emilia were led to the tall double doors which granted them entrance to the party, she was trembling, eyeing around, observing each nook and cranny with an indistinguishable look in her eye. Was it fear? Anger? Astonishment? Interest? Perhaps it was all compiled into one strange emotion that flooded her pupils as they looked around.

  
The ballroom swept the two girls off their feet the second they set foot inside, for it was, without denying, gorgeous. The chandeliers gave off a golden hue, mixing with the blue banners baring a rose, forming a warm, rich aura in the within the large and spacious room. People gathered all around, handling glasses of wine, conversing with one another, each wearing suits and gowns she had never laid eyes upon, which she observed closely with interest. The people were laughing with one another, smiles on their faces; they looked happy, at peace with one another, this encouraged Juliet to straighten her spine and fix her eyes on Emilia, who eyed around with an equal amount of astonishment.

  
"It's so beautiful! It's so beautiful!" Emilia exclaimed over and over again, enthusiasm leaking from every pore of her body. "Look! Look, Odin! It is the painting on the ceiling! The painting of the fall of Capulet! Is it not a masterpiece?"

  
Juliet dared to gaze up at the mural meters upon meters above their head, where her eyes landed upon the ceiling, terror gathering in her gaze as she observed. There, above even the chandelier, was a painting as Emilia had said; a painting of a man standing over another, who lay on the ground, dead with a blade driven through his chest. His blood formed a scarlet rose, which mixed with the victorious man, who held an iris in his grip, crushing it between his fingers.

  
The sight unsettled her, making her force herself to yank her gaze away with a pang in her heart, sickness daring to wash over her as she gazed down at the ground. Her breathing became heavy, heavy as she stood there in the middle of the crowd, trying to manage it, trying to relieve it. Seeing this, Emilia approached her, concern on her face.

  
"Oh heavens, Odin." she whispered. "Your tongue has yet to even meet a drop of wine and you already begin to feel ill? You must not take a liking to large crowds."

  
With a huff, Juliet straightened herself, beads of clammy sweat rolling down her face.

  
"Yea, perhaps." she excused with a quivering sigh. "Perhaps I shall reside at the side of the dance floor, where I shall find things less cramped."

  
"Ah yes, fabulous idea, Odin. Maybe there we shall also find refreshments to relieve your dizziness or whatever you may be feeling. Come along now, I shall help us out of the crowd. Afterwards, we must look for my step uncle; he is of a noble house, the one who invited us to attend."

  
They politely excused themselves through the sea of people, through some who stepped away willingly without a problem, and of course through some who gaze them angry or snobbish looks as they passed. But in the end, what mattered to Juliet, they were able to fight their way through to the side lines of the room, where they found a table residing against the wall with a man standing over it, passing out drinks to visitors.

  
"Perfect, Odin." Emilia said as she led her over to the wall, where she pointed to a wooden chair. "Have a seat and I shall go fetch you a glass of ice cold water; does that sound agreeable?"

  
She didn't argue when it came to the chair.

  
"Thank you, Emilia." she whispered as she plopped down into the seat, where she hunched over and buried her palms beneath her thigh. Nothing mattered to her at this point, she just wanted to make sure that her eyes were to never meet with that dreaded painting. Nor the rose bushes potted around the room. Nor the statues created in honor of the late Rose. Nor the blue banners which hang high from the balconies.

  
Emilia soon returned with the water as she promised, which Juliet downed in only a matter of seconds, refreshing her and clearing the dizziness which had earlier set in. But for a while, Juliet did not rise from her seat, which, lucky for her, Emilia did not seem to have a problem with. Emilia was far too busy talking with a nobleman not too far from where she sat, a look of interest and desire clouding in her eyes. The sight caused Juliet to smile, laughing at how quickly the girl could find someone that caught her interest (not to mention how quickly she could flag those men down and get them to engage in a conversation with her). But still, even when time had passed them by, she refused to get up, she only remained, watching Emilia and all of the other aristocrats converse with one another. In fact, for fun, she decided to eavesdrop on a few conversations, listening for something, hoping for absurd situations to silently laugh to herself for.

  
"Oh yes, and it turns out it was Angela. Angela was the one he was out with that night; what a scoundrel that men, running off with..."

  
"And so I told the old chap, 'You cannot simply tell a steed not to fly away when you put it inside its stable, you have to..."  
"Yes, my dear bought me this ring before he called me his wife, it's my most prized..."

  
"Thank goodness for this ball, I have been needing this kind of relief for months by..."

  
"Shh... His Majesty is there on the balcony. He looks as though he wants to speak."

  
Juliet's head quickly shot up, looking all around for a balcony until she found one; it sat on the other end of the ballroom, branching out over the dance floor with a beams providing support underneath. There, on top of it, was the very person she expected to find; the dreaded face of Romeo Candore Van DeMontague. He stood a long ways away, for the ballroom was a large one, yet somehow, even with their distance, she could peer into his cold, lifeless eyes without even the slightest of hassles, sending chills down her spine as she jumped to her feet in respect.

  
The conversations around her soon died down as each attendant brought their heads up to look upon the Archduke, who awaited his silence patiently. Two stout, almost angry, looking guards stood at either of the boy's sides, wielding menacing looking spears in their hands. They gazed down at the crowd, frightening them into silence as sh expected them to, and when there wasn't a sound in the room, the Archduke cleared his throat.

  
"Good evening, O nobles of Neo Verona." his voice was strong and rang throughout the entire room, so clear that even she, the furthest away, could hear his every word. "It is a delight to see the outcome of this ball, therefore I am pleased to see the lot of you who decided to attend. Do stay all night, for we shall be having plenty of wine and feasts. Enjoy yourselves, and I shall be down to lavish the affair along with you just momentarily. Do refrain yourselves from starting quarrels, for you will surely be asked to leave or punished should you bring harm unto any of my guests. It is with great pleasure, I now officially begin the ball with music, which you all may dance to. For those who wish to mingle, please depart from the dance floor and continue with your conversations on the sidelines or in the courtyard." he brought up a thin glass of wine in his hands, holding it out over the balcony. "Here's to a wonderful night."

  
And with that said and done, music started to play from the corner of the room, where a small orchestra resided, focused on their sheets of music with pressure in their eyes. A good half of the crowd migrated over to the sidelines, the place where she happened to be, evoking a slight amount of worry inside her. Before too many crowded around her, Emilia rushed to her side, the wrist of a young gentleman in tow.

  
"Odina!" she called with a grin. "This handsome noble and myself shall be enjoying ourselves on the dance floor, should you need anything, do call upon me or get some fresh air out in the courtyard! Or, if you're feeling lucky, go out and find yourself a lovely man as well!" she grinned and gave her a wink before being led through the crowd, en route to the floor, soon disappearing in the sea of heads.

  
Juliet watched everything play out from her chair, which she occasionally sat upon, but for the most part, she stood, watching the couples dance through the windows of the shoulders of the crowd. She watched as they glided around the floor with one another, tightly embraced, some with their noses pressed against the other, some with their eyes peacefully closed, lulled as they danced. The sight caused her to blink times a few, a sense of awkwardness welling up inside her...

  
...Yet there was something else too. It was a certain feeling she was not familiar with, a fuzzy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, a warm syrup which flowed slowly like molasses through canals, quickening her heartbeat. The feeling caused her to stop, then pull her eyes away from the couples and seat herself again, careful not to get in the way of those gathered around her. She laced her fingers together, where she gazed down at them, having nothing else to look at.

  
"Oh Willy..." she found herself thinking. "Surely you would know; unconditional love; what does it feel like? What does it mean? Just what exactly is love?"

  
A blush crept across her face summoning her hand to her cheek, where she cupped it, embarrassed by her own thoughts.  
"Oh dear..." she whispered. "For what reason did that come to mind?"

  
"Love. A spouse. Should I walk the path of one day ruling over Neo Verona, I must find a spouse. I cannot rule over a country by myself. I need a husband to work along side me. A husband to relieve my stress, to advise me in my decisions, to remind me that I am loved. I need to find one soon."

  
Juliet's eyes widened as she pounced from her seat, a frown on her face and her brows furrowed. With her hands clenched at her sides, she marched away from the seat, weaving through the crowd of people, eventually finding herself walking down a hallway, passing people and couples by. Eventually she found herself before a guard, gazing at him with her chocolate brown eyes.

  
"Excuse me." she called. "Could you please direct me to the courtyard?"

  
The man gave her a puzzled expression before clearing his throat.

  
"Why, it is right down there, madam." he pointed over his shoulder, directing her gaze to a tall pair of doors standing open, leading to the outdoors. The sight, so easy to spy upon, made her blush worsen as she slowly walked away, her head sinking deeper and her fists clenching tighter. The courtyard was barely occupied, which came as a surprise to her, for the moon shone brightly down on the scene, which basked in its paleness. The sight actually came as a relief to her, for she shook her head and headed over to the tall fountain in its heart, where she took a seat at the very edge.

  
Softly, she rubbed the temples of her head, groaning in the meantime as she listened to the peaceful trickling sound of the water behind her; yes, she could come to like this, she could spend all night out here by herself with no nobles to gaze upon her.

  
"Juliet, you fool." she removed the mask from her face. "Thinking such odd thoughts. Since when did you ever ponder upon marriage? Was seeing a few couples in the ballroom all it took for thou to suddenly feel lonely? Thou art a fool, I tell thee."

  
She sat a while longer in her silence, staring down at the cobblestone ground, admiring the foliage so well kept, gazing up at the stars, trying to recite the few constellations Curio had taught her. It was pleasant out there, she took a liking to it quickly. But there eventually came a point where she peered over her shoulder, observing the water pooled at the base of the fountain, where she found flowers floating inside. They were roses, a flower which had not particularly came to her liking as of late. It symbolized evil, evil in a country which was hers. Her eyes watched as they floated around, mingling with petals as well, but then, as if it had suddenly appeared just for her, there came another flower floating on by; an iris, tinted blue just as many others. Excitement welled up in her heart as she gently scooped it up into her palms, then brought it before her face, where she gave it a nice whiff. Yes, it was an iris, a lovely one that smelled a brilliant fragrance.

  
Its every petal was without blemish, silky and smooth, allowing beads of water to slowly slide down until it was completely rid of, its center was covered in pollen, ripe for the bees to come buzzing, its blue rich and colorful, setting a cool and relaxed tone on her as she admired it. She loved the iris, it was something that she could proudly say made her night a good one. But then, suddenly, just as she was thinking to herself how satisfied she was, there came a voice which yanked her from her thoughts, frightening her, causing her heart to catch fire.

  
"You appear to be pleased by the sight of the iris."

  
Her head shot up with panic, where her eyes met with the last sight she figured she could see; the sea green eyes of the Montague boy, the cold, lifeless eyes that she found haunting her in her dreams. He stood before her, gazing down at her as she sat at the edge of the fountain, a slight amount of interest in his staring, but the pressure caused her hands to tremble, robbing her of words.

  
"I-I..." she paused, terrified. Every single word came back to her. Every single thing she's head said about him. Things said by Willy. Things said by Curio. Things said by Francisco. Things said by Conrad. They all came back to her like a rapid river, reminding her of things, reminding her of one sentence;

  
_"Do not trust him."_

  
"A shy one, aren't you?" he murmured blandly. "Or perhaps you are afraid because you know who I am?"  
Juliet quickly shook her head.

  
"N-Nay, you startled me, Your Majesty, that is the matter."

  
"You seemed awfully consumed by that flower. So lost in thought. I've never laid eyes upon a person who could plunge into unresponsiveness so easily by such a petty thing." he crossed his arms behind his back. "Tell me, for what reason do you come out here to the courtyard alone? There isn't another soul out here besides our blasted own."

  
She tried to look away; she tried so hard, yet couldn't.

  
"Because..." her voice trailed off again. "I do not handle crowds well. I came out to receive fresh air and clear my mind. It becomes mighty cloudy with so many people surrounding me." she dared to peer back into his eyes. "And what of you, O Archduke? Wherefore do you come out alone? Have you not a ball to tend to? Your people are surely awaiting thee."

  
Romeo frowned, almost angrily, as he stiffened. A breeze swept them by, ruffling their hair, as well as his fluttery scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked neatly into his suit. Juliet couldn't lie to herself; he looked very sharp in such a getup, she was amused no women were chasing after him.

  
"I come out for the same reason as thee." he replied lowly. "I too cannot handle crowds well."

  
Juliet's brows dropped as she gazed into his eyes again. She caught something, something very faint, something very small... It was something she was sure was there, something she didn't doubt herself over.

  
"Your Majesty... Wherefore do you lie to me?"

  
The expression on his face suddenly became furious, for the bridge of his nose wrinkled, then anger gathered in his eyes; his fists clenched.

  
"You dare accuse me of lying?" he echoed in disbelief. "I do not even know thee! We have only been talking not even for a minute! You fool, going about shouting false accusations!"

  
"N-Nay, Your Majesty. Your eyes. Your eyes give it away. I could see it in your eyes."

  
The boy paused, allowing himself to wind down, eventually letting his shoulders sink with a sigh. His anger had yet to leave, she could feel it emitting from him, yet for some reason, she remained reserved, somehow able to keep her trembling under control.

  
"Yea, yea," The Archduke grumbled. "I lied to you. It is no matter to me whether you caught it or not."

  
"Lying again, O Archduke."

  
"Enough, enough with your foolish game." he frowned deeper. "Do you wish to know why it is I came out here seeking to be alone? That is because I avoid the crowd. I hate them. They do not care about me, they only care for my position. All the women, they say they love me though they do not. They simply want to be the Archduchess with money to flaunt and spend. They all make me sick."

  
Juliet remained seated, an awkward expression on her face.

  
"Then wherefore do you host a ball?"

  
He looked away.

  
"That is none of your business, woman. What bravery or pride gives you the willingness to ask me questions as though I am a mere commoner?"

  
"Well I..." Juliet paused, beginning to tremble again. "I am concerned for you, O Archduke. You seem stressed and heavy with burden."

  
"For tonight, that is so."

  
"Then please, do not stress yourself furthermore; come and we shall chat. Should that help your shoulders with their knots?"  
Once again, anger began to well up inside the boy, radiating from him like steam from a hot spring. It made her heartbeat quicken, not to mention her mind suddenly began to fidget. What on earth was she thinking? Inviting the enemy to talk with her? What is she doing?

  
But then, suddenly, a wonderful idea came to mind; keep your enemies close. She needs to learn as much as she can about this fiend so that she can find a way to take him down. The more knowledge she had, the more she had against him. Yes. This is perfect. Simply perfect.

  
The Archduke, though reluctant at first, approached her closely, where he took a seat next to her at the edge of the fountain. His figure hunched over, his hands dangling loosely over his knees, his eyes becoming cloudy and void; the sight sparked interest inside of her, inviting her to lean forth to gaze closely into his face.

  
"Tell me, young miss, what is your name? And your age?"

  
She paused again. Hmm. Curious question. A name. It would certainly not be wise to say her name is of the house of Capulet; should that be the case, it would be less trouble for her if she had simply trudged up to the Carabinieri and exclaimed such for all the city to hear. Odin certainly would not play the part either, if anything that would spawn more questions... Ah, perhaps Juliet should seize this opportunity and use whatever name she has always wanted, the name she's always dreamed of having, the name she's always coveted. Let's see, there is such a book full of names, what name would she decide upon...  
"My name is Juliet..." her eyes widened in horror; could it be? Hath her own tongue decided to betray her? What on earth just happened? How did she let such a thing slip through her lips at such high circumstances? Foolish girl, foolish girl! Run away now so that a head start may be acquired! Run away!

  
"Juliet..." The Rose echoed her voice clearly, yet deeply, as if very deep in thought. His eyes wandered up at the sky, gazing at the stars absently, his mouth hanging halfway open as he remained quiet, pondering upon the title. Juliet couldn't help but cringe at the sight; it led her to pick up her dress and rise to her feet, her heart beating roughly.

  
"M-My apologies, Your Majesty, but I must return to the ball, I-"

  
"Do not think you are the only individual here that can detect a lie." Romeo looked up at her, his eyes cold and stern once more, bringing her heart to a stop. "I know why you wish to leave so suddenly."

  
Oh no. It was over. It was all over. He knows who she was. It shouldn't come as a surprise; perhaps he kept many of the family portraits of the Capulets to study them, memorizing eye color, facial structures and features, reviewing birth logs that date as far back as when the name was first coined... All in the name of destroying her.

  
Juliet couldn't help but tremble as she stood there, looking at him with horror in her eyes. It was all over. All over because she chose to go to a stupid ball. What a foolish girl she was. She knew one day her luck would run out, but she was too stupid to start acting accordingly to it. What a fool she was. What a fool.

  
"Y-Your Majesty, perhaps we can discuss this as civili-"

  
"There is no need to be shy. There is no need to run away from me." the Archduke pat next to himself, right on the spot where she had been sitting."You said you would converse with me, did you not? Please, seat yourself again. There isn't a need to suddenly become nervous and return to the place from which you left in the name of seeking relief."

  
She stared at him some more. Then some more. Listening to the trickling of the fountain, the coos of the midnight bugs, the distant music from the ball. Then, all of a sudden, realization set in; he only thought she was being shy. Oh. He only thought she was being shy, therefore she wanted to run away. Ah. How lovely...

  
"F-Forgive me, Your Majesty, I..." she went along with it, then looked down to the ground. "I am not the best when it comes to talking to people I am not familiar with..."

  
"You never become familiar with someone you never speak to." he encouraged her some more by continuing to pat on the wall of the fountain. "Come sit again, Juliet. Let us hold a conversation. Perhaps you've a subject in mind?"

  
She gazed at the spot next to him. Eyeing it carefully. Sitting next to the Archduke. Conversing with him. Alone. This may not be so bad after all, she may not know unless she dove straight in. Here goes nothing...

  
"N-Nay, nothing of importance." she slowly reclaimed her seat, though keeping a relatively reasonable distance from him, far enough to where their hips did not even touch. "I was admiring the beauty of the night before you approached me; what is your opinion of it?"

  
"Ah. The outdoors..." his brows furrowed. "I am not fond of it. It is either too hot and muggy or too cold and frostbitten. It is never pleasant to me, no matter the weather. Tell me, Juliet, you were captivated by an iris bloom before I spoke to you, what detail of it fascinates thee?"

  
Juliet eyed the blossom, which lay on the ground from being dropped in fear. Carefully, she reached down to retrieve it, cupping it gently in her palms. It had become damaged, for it was a delicate thing; the sigh made her face drop, evoking a slight sense of pity.

  
"Excellent question, Your Majesty..." she murmured. "Even I myself have not an answer to give thee besides the fact that I have none. It has a lovely fragrance, and its petals are cool to the touch, but... I've no idea. It is simply just something I like. It is about as easy as explaining why it is we favor a certain color. There is no explanation."

  
The Archduke raised a brow, then peered over his shoulder. Not even a moment afterwards, he reached down into the water in the fountain, then fished out another bloom, except it was crimson as blood, the widest bloom she's seen.

  
"Tell me." he held the flower to her. "What do you think of a rose in bloom? Does it evoke marvel or appreciation?"

  
Juliet eyed the bloom with a slight amount of prejudice.

  
"They are not entirely in my favor. Their thorns are sharp. They lure you in with their charm and sweet fragrance, but then they inflict a cut upon your skin; almost as though that was what they wanted all along."

  
"Nay. Roses bare thorns to protect themselves. They use them to scare away predators and defend its roots from those that burrow."

  
Juliet felt beads of sweat start to gather at the crown of her head. She then released a nervous laugh.

  
"I knew that not." she said, trying to play along with agreeing with him, then turned around to set the iris back in the cool water behind her. "Have you lifted your gaze upon the night sky? It is quite lovely."

  
Romeo turned around to replace the rose in the water as well, allowing it to float on the surface. He paused after that, gazing down in the pool before heaving a sigh, drawing her attention to him. She felt a brow anchor as she continued to watch him; he didn't budge in the slightest, but simply stared down for even longer.

  
"Your Majesty?" she asked once clearing her throat. "Is there something that troubles you?"

  
The boy shifted his gaze from the water and onto her, where he brought himself back to facing his body forwards. His eyes remained locked onto her. Staring at her. Delving into her mind it seemed.

  
"Juliet." his lips parted suddenly. "Would it bother you if I were to tell you something you may find absolutely absurd?"  
"I-I suppose it depends upon what such a thing would be..." Juliet released another nervous laugh, trying to remain optimistic and fearless in the situation. Upon hearing her statement, Romeo's face hardened, then he fixed his gaze elsewhere, avoiding her it seemed.

  
"I've something very odd about myself." he claimed. "I've a love hate relationship... With a breed of blossom. The iris, Juliet. Is that not absurd? A petty flower causes me such distress. Such turmoil. It drives me insane."

  
"Oh truly?"

  
"My mother. My dear, beloved mother; she used to adore irises, wild or domestic. She would grow them in her garden and while away her hours tending to them. Each bloom was spotless. They were so lovely, just as the scent which filled the entire place, even seeping into her own skin. She always smelled of them." his head sunk. "Because of that, I never want to see one bruised. Yet at the same time, I want to burn them all."

  
All of the sudden, Juliet felt something pang at her heart; concern. Concern was what filled her eyes, it was what drove her to inch closer, wondering what it was that drove his words. They were so bitter, yet so depressed. It was the last thing she expected to hear from him.

  
"Why be that so, Archduke?"

  
"Because." he said. "It was an iris that killed her. A Capulet. For that, I want there to be irises no more..." his eyes remained fixed upon the double doors far ahead of them. "Yet how can I destroy something my mother adored so dearly?"

  
Not a word. She wasn't to say a word about it. She couldn't express her opinion, nor believe what he just said; her own kin killed his mother? Impossible. There was no way such a thing was so.

  
"I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Your Majesty." she murmured, almost sincere. "My mother and father are also gone. Burned in a house fire started by a curtain that flew too closely to a candle. If it helps comfort you, I can relate to the way in which you feel. Know you are not completely alone in feeling as though you are an orphan child."

  
The boy jerked his head away.

  
"I never told you I feel as though I am an orphan." his somber expression was replaced with hostility, his weeping voice full of anger. His eyes returned to being cold and steely, and they fixed themselves upon her once again. "Being an orphan means that you feel helpless and without love. Never once in my life have I felt such a way, therefore I am not hurting in such a portion of my heart..." his frown grew bitter. "All I want is for my mother to be avenged. Only then shall it be well with my soul."

  
There was silence between the two of them again, growing rich in tension at an alarming rate. It caused Juliet to look away, then attempt to filter out her thoughts, process everything she was told. Surely the boy was lying. He had to be. Those who thirst for tyranny stop at nothing and give respect for not a single soul, not even deceased loved ones. What a crude joke this boy must be, speaking of his mother in a lie; centering one completely around her without a single look of remorse in his eyes. One thought continued to go through her mind; how on earth could a boy's heart seep so thoroughly into the inky blackness of evil? How could he be so consumed for a lust of power? Only God knows, Juliet was almost too afraid to find out.  
However, before anything else could be exchanged between the two of them, the double doors which led into the hall of the castle started to budge, soon opening to reveal a guard standing at the doorway, looking over at them for a moment before calling out.

  
"Your Majesty! The slow dance will commence in ten minutes should you have a desire to attend!"

  
His message was short and sweet, for shortly afterwards, the guard retreated into the castle, shutting the door along with him. Romeo gazed out towards the door, a frown printed on his lips. But then, ever so slowly, that angry expression began to melt away, leaving a neutral expression, save for his glassy, lifeless eyes.

  
He stood to his feet, releasing a sigh as he gave himself a quick stretch, then, unexpectedly, he turned back to her, gazing down at her with the same neutral look on his face.

  
"Juliet." he caught her attention. "I must ask thee; do you possess any knowledge of dancing?"

  
Willy and Emilia once taught her how to dance for fun.

  
"Um... Only a small amount of experience is within my feet..." she gazed back up at him. "Wherefore?"

  
He held his hand out to her, cupping it gently in offering.

  
"I would like to hold you as my dancing partner tonight."

 


	8. Wrestles of the Heart

"I see you two are finally back. Have you any idea how late it is? Perhaps the better way of putting it would be have you any idea how early it is. Do you two think it's really that funny to be out for such a long time? We were beginning to grow anxious for the safety of you both."

  
There goes Cordelia. Sounding as motherly and scolding as any normal parent would be. There were violet bags hanging beneath her eyes, almost complimenting her periwinkle nightgown in a way. The frown on her face was the least attractive, though; it made her seem grouchy, almost angry.

  
"Oh, there was no need to be worried about us, Miss Cordelia. Odin and I had a blast while we were there. Well, at least I did, but I'm sure Odin had just as much fun as I did!" Emilia, despite the early hours, was as chipper as when they left to the ball. "I found my lovely prince tonight; I'll sleep peacefully and have wonderful dreams, Odin. Thank you so dearly for volunteering to come along with me, even if it meant dressing as a woman and completely selling your man card. You were such a help! Ah well, I must be getting home or else mother will be worried as well! Tootles!" and with that, she shut the door of the theater, leaving Juliet there in the room with Cordelia and Antonio, who was stirring from his slumber from when his head rested upon a table.

  
Antonio lifted his head slowly, a groggy look on his face, as he let out a small moan, then he took notice of Juliet, standing there in the doorway, her head hung low. He raised a brow at her getup, shocked almost.

  
"Hello, Od- I mean- Juliet..." he looked her over again. "You look really dressed up. How was the party? Were there lots of people there?"

  
Juliet didn't look up.

  
"Yea, it was fine, Antonio."

  
"You sure don't sound fine." Cordelia approached her, then took her by the jaw, lifting her head. She gazed into Juliet's tired, glassy eyes with a frown, then heaved a sigh. "If anything, you sound exhausted."

  
"I'm tired." The Iris agreed without the slightest bit of argument.

  
"Then let's all get to bed. I don't know who would want to stay up until such ungodly hours anyhow."

  
Cordelia led the two of them down the hall of the theater, soon reaching the wall where the secret door resided; as she pushed it away, revealing a hidden staircase, Antonio looked up at Juliet, curiosity flooding his young eyes.

  
"So what happened? Did you have fun?" a smile crept across his face. "You didn't get drunk on wine, did you? You surely made yourself a foolish jest if you had." he snickered shortly afterwards.

  
"I'm much too tired to talk about it, Antonio." she dully responded. "I am much too tired to talk about anything as a matter of fact. Perhaps I shall give you the details in the morn..."

  
The two of them continued on to their bedrooms after parting ways with Cordelia just a little ways down. Antonio gazed up at Juliet for the majority of the time, watching her, supervising her in her exhaustion. In fact, they passed his room, he stayed by her side until they reached the door at the very end of the hall, where they bid their goodnights with a smile and a shutting postern.

  
Juliet didn't even bother shedding her dress. She simply plopped down atop her bed with a sigh, one marked by stress. She lay there, gazing up at the ceiling of the room, gazing at the parts of her wall lighted by the moonlight which peeked inside by her small window. If she was as tired as she claimed, she should have fallen asleep on the spot without even a moment to fight. Yet she didn't. That was because she wasn't tired at all. She couldn't sleep even if she wanted to.

  
She wasn't scared.

  
She wasn't energetic.

  
She wasn't nervous.

  
She wasn't well rested.

  
It was real plain and simple; she was in love. She'd fallen in love that night, and it left her breathless, barely able to comprehend what had hit her so suddenly and so hardly. She was in love. A deep, unescapable, pitiful, love. She was ashamed, yet at the same time, she was excited. The warmth that pooled in her stomach. The puffiness in her eyes. The rough beating in her chest. It all kept her from falling asleep, it kept her from having dreams.

  
She could still feel his arms wrapped around her torso, caressing her body so softly; yet at the same time, his embrace was tight, protective. Their feet, somehow, were in sync as they glided around the floor, bodies pressed against one another. His hand, though large, was so gentle as it held hers, yet the grip was powerful, completely under control; it made her feel safe.  
He wasn't giving her goo-goo eyes through out the dance as all the other couples did. His eyes were still stern, something she somehow took comfort in. She felt so compact against him, as though they were moving as one, sharing the same mind to make the exact same movements at a precise time. Everything about him had become soothing for once; even his heartbeat, which she could hear each time she set her head against his chest. It was so steady and controlled, focused on more than mere anxiety like her.

  
Even though his eyes were cold, she was able to look far into his black pupils. It was there, she found warmth, warmth like the pool in her belly or the heat circulating between the two of them. It was love. A fiery, passionate, love which drove them to continue dancing the whole night through. There were instances in which he would look up in between dances and fix his eyes elsewhere, as if saying his thanks and relieving her of his requests, but she would hold on to him tighter, even when her conscience told her not to. The same was the other way around. She would look away, feeling as though she was clinging for too long, but he would move his hand from her torso and to the back of her head, which he pressed against himself, inviting her to stay. Neither of them ever argued.

  
He seemed to almost respect her; long into the lists of dances, there came songs which were slow, opening the door to physical romance; a place where lips would surely come into play. She could tell he had a small desire for something, yet she watched it as he pushed the idea away, leading them to dance, and dancing was the only thing they did. She had to admit though... she found herself wanting it as well at certain points.

  
But the most profound thing to her was the small amount of dialogue shared between the two of them. His voice had been toned down, soothing almost, as he kept his face next to her ear. His words were small, yet also important, they brought warm breath against her neck, sending chills down her spine. She could say that she liked them.

  
"Juliet." he whispered. "Tell me. What is love to you?"

  
That four letter word caused her heart to pound even harder, and her blush became deeper.

  
"Love..." she echoed. "...Love is not wanting something from someone. It is wanting the best for someone. That is how I perceive love."

  
"Hmm. Very thoughtful. What an interesting definition."

  
She was simply echoing the words of Willy. He had told her such a thing once while she and Antonio were visiting him in the theater. They sat in the audience's seat, listening as he strictly directed his play; it was a play about love.

  
Love.

  
Juliet had to ask him.

  
"Willy? Just what exactly is love?"

  
But nothing through out that entire night, that entire night she spent on cloud nine, stood out more to her than what occurred soon after the ball had come to an end as the musicians halted their playing. The other guests bore faces of exhaustion as they took one last sip of their wine, couples parted ways with a kiss and departed from the dance floor, maids had begun to arrive with their mops and brooms, cleaning as more guests took their leave, heading for their carriages.

  
The two seemed to remain in their own little world, embracing one another as though they were still dancing, soaking in one another's warmth, breathing heavily. The Archduke had picked up his head after a little while, then gazed down at her, summoning her eyes up to him. They exchanged glances for a little while, giving no regard to their awkward closeness, and slowly, the boy's lips parted.

  
"Juliet." he murmured her name lowly. "I would like to express my gratitude to you. Thank you for joining me tonight. I pray you enjoyed it as much as I."

  
What an odd thing to depart from his mouth. Not once did Juliet ever see him as the type to give thanks. He thought everything was owed to him. He thought he deserved the best the world had to give him. What was it that made him dip his head down and be so humble?

  
"Ah. It was no problem for me, Your Majesty, I..." she was suddenly at a loss for words. There was a smile that crept across her lips as she brought herself closer to him. "I truly did enjoy tonight. It was lovely and quite cozy. Another night sometime down the road sounds very appealing."

  
"Tell me then, Juliet." his eyes suddenly grew harder. "Would you care to stay the night here? I've another bedroom right next to mine; it is the second finest room in the castle, it is there you are welcome to stay. Then, when we rouse in the morning, we may share breakfast together, then I shall show you more of the castle; the garden might tend to your interest."  
Juliet felt her blush deepen, and her eyes darted away, instead staring at the ascot tucked into his suit, the one she had been rubbing against all night. She was suddenly at a loss for words again, leaving her speechless and flustered, her hands quivering.

  
"M-My..." she whispered. He listened and watched her response with interest. "That is a mighty tempting offer, Your Majesty, but you see, I..." she dared to look back up at him. "I've housemates expecting me at home. If I am not to return, they will be worried ill for me, and that is simply not something I would wish for them to burden over."

  
She watched as his eyes grew dull, and his head sunk low, lower than usual.

  
"I see." he replied slowly. "I see." he looked back up at her. "Then we should arrange another date to meet, Juliet. Does that capture you interest?"

  
"Yes, of course. A week from now perhaps? In the old part of town. At the old church."

  
"Wherefore the old church? It is old and dilapidated, you make such an odd choice."

  
"It is secluded there. We can be alone without others to interrupt us."

  
A small smile appeared on his lips. Not that sly, confident, smile he always wore; this one was sweet, excitement in his eyes.  
"Let it be then. A week from now, the old church, just an hour after noon?"

  
"Yea, let it be."

  
What was she thinking. What was she doing. Arranging secret meetings with the enemy? Wherefore? What made her suddenly decide this was a good idea she would benefit from? The boy's a liar, the boy's a thief; he stole his own father's life without a second thought. She'd been taught better! She should know better! She shouldn't be so allured by danger so easily!

  
...And yet... One week seemed so far away.

 


	9. Bonding

She was stupid. She was very stupid. She came to such a conclusion before long, only a few days after the royal ball, when the euphoria of love dimmed down as a fire. Her conscious eyes started to clear from their fog, granting her vision once more, seeing the wreckage that had occurred. Many things were oddly out of place inside of her; things had become terribly disorganized and meddling in all the wrong places. She let her guard down. Her allowed herself to succumb to mere feelings. She allowed herself to become infatuated with the enemy.

  
How could she do such a thing? Allowing herself to suddenly develop sympathy towards the son of the man who murdered her entire family? The son that followed closely in his father's footsteps? Who was she attempting to jest? Was she truly that immoral after all? What a frightening thought that was for her; her conscious has abandoned morality, it instead chose to pursue the satisfaction to her earthly desires that would surely one day have herself killed.

  
It was obvious that Juliet was bothered by such a fact; it was obvious to all those who spied upon her, yet they all could not place their finger on the reason why exactly. Antonio had probed her from time to time, asking for an answer simply out of concern, yet each time, he would get a lie as an answer. It was a deceptive lie that she tried to manipulate with, it was just merely a:

  
"Worry not, Antonio, I fair quite nicely today though my face may not look it. I am only tired, nothing more, for I have found myself deeply engrossed in a novel I picked up in Wily's office. It is about a boy that discovers a wild horse in the midst of the wilderness, and he decides to name him..." she often had to get onto herself for speaking too long and too far in detail; she was frightened and believed that many would catch onto her lie should she continue on for a lengthy amount of time.

  
Even though Juliet fooled most all of her housemates, there was one she could never shake off no matter how hard she tried. It was, of course, none other than the playwright, Willy. He always gazed upon her with a brow raised as he tuned into her lies she would tell all who asked. He never seemed all that convinced. Never. Juliet was fortunate enough to never encounter him without someone at his or her side, meaning they were no alone together, that way, he could never confront her about the lies. Willy, oddly enough for his personality and occupation, wasn't exactly the one who would go about stirring up drama to create a scene, especially if embarrassment was promised to either one of them. No, Willy was a very respectful type of man; he was mindful of others, and if something serious was on the table, he would pull one aside and chat privately.

  
So, as if fate had demand them to talk or Willy himself waited for her to appear, Juliet was stopped in the middle of the theatre's hall while carrying a basket of clean laundry meant to be delivered to Cordelia. He suddenly came around the opposite corner of her, then caught eye of her, sporting her usual costume as a young gentleman. He smiled at the sight of her, then approached her.

  
"Ah, salutations, Odin." he said. "And how might you be feeling today?"

  
"I am doing better. I appreciate your concern."

  
Willy halted before her, then gazed into her face, delving into her eyes, evoking discomfort almost immediately. She blinked a time or two before taking a step back while adjusting her grip on the basket, then her throat quickly became cleared.  
"Is... Is there something I can do for you, Willy? Perhaps help you jog your memory of an idea you've lost? Move a prop? Play a part in your newest story..?" she was truly scraping the bottom of the barrel; often times, Juliet dreaded it when Willy wrote a new play, that meant that she was more than likely to be asked to be part of it.

  
"Ah, nothing just yet, you liar." he replied playfully before allowing a smirk to appear across his lips once again. "Don't you know it's rude to go about fibbing to every face you see? That makes you no different from that petty Archduke of ours, boy." he straightened his spine, then released a sigh, continuing to smile.

  
"L-Liar? Wherefore to you accuse me of such?" Juliet found herself becoming nervous. "With all due respect, are you not aware of the fact that calling people lairs also happens to be rude?"

  
"Look at you. Saying you fair fine. Acting as though you fair fine. You cannot fool me, young man, for I can peer through thee as though thou art crafted from glass. I know exactly why your mood has been dampened so badly these past few days; it is something you simply cannot hide from me." then, for some reason, Willy turned around after that, then he slowly began to walk away, shoulders lax, head held high.

  
Hearing this, though, caused Juliet's heart to burn, forcing her to lunge forward, rushing to his side.

  
"Say what? Since when did you lead yourself to place faith in such? Where's your proof? Just what do you think you know?"   
A small chuckle escaped the man's lips as he paused again, then turned to her, his eyes shut in excitement. A toothy grin spread across his lips, displaying a mark of confidence to her.

  
"I have no faith in this, Odin, I have knowledge of this. Have you recently peered into a mirror to observe yourself? Have you peered into your eyes as I just had? Did you notice your pupils and how large they are? Have you not taken notice of your brown irises and how bright they've become? And your eyes as a whole; have you not noticed or felt how unusually puffy they are? Perhaps your face as well? Did you notice how red has thickly coated your cheeks? I dare say, Odin, you're madly in love."

  
Willy was the first and only individual to pick up on the truth, and to be honest, Juliet was somewhat relieved, though shocked at first. She knew a secret could be kept safely with Willy. He felt privileged with such knowledge, he had told her, furthering her comfort. Yet there was something more which bothered her. It was something he had said.

  
"Now, now, Odin, there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of; this is normal for young men your age; even I remember first feeling such an urge..." he smiled. "I'm not going to intrude in your business, therefore I shall not inquire anything about your lovely or the relationship between you two, but I wanted to confront you to relay a message to you. Be cautious, young Odin, of who you allow your heart to become affectionate towards, for that significant other shall be one of the largest influences on your life. Do not be afraid to be choosey. Do not be afraid to say no. There are plenty of people out there that will make you rotten."

  
It was amazing how much a simple comment could make her feel. Make her think. It was this simple comment from Willy, a man she trusted, a man she took advice from, that caused her to ponder upon the promise she had made with the Archduke days before. The promise that she would meet him at the old church in a week. It was a comment which made her shut her eyes and heave a sigh, trying to forget everything which had happened. Trying not to imagine what was going to happen.  
He was sitting alone, alone on the only stone pew that resided at the abandoned church. It was long after noon. Long after an hour after noon. He'd been waiting for quite a while, longer than he anticipated to wait. His hands were gently holding a bouquet by its stems, his eyes dully gazing forwards, studying what was left of the mural behind the pulpit, gazing once more at its long familiarized lines and ridges.

  
Evening insects had begun orchestrating their songs, chirping away like an upbeat bird, calling to one another, disrupting the majority of his thoughts. His head sunk back down after a while, as did his shoulders, all while a slow heave escaped his quivering lips. He brought himself to his feet, his eyes shut, his grip on the bouquet growing tighter, then he turned his gaze up to the sky above him, studying the thick golden blanket, mesmerized by its beauty. Yet slowly, as time went on, his gaze upon the sight drew out longer than expected, all the while, his neutral frown gradually sank into one of bitterness, the bridge of his nose crumpling.

  
"Kid yourself not, thou fool." he hissed to himself as he forcefully hurled the bouquet to the ground, its petals creating a slap against the stone. "To think. To think she would actually remain true to her word..."

  
But when he lifted his head, he found her standing there at the doorless doorway, her hands timidly laced together over her chest, her stance still and quiet, her hair lightly fluttering in the gentle evening breeze. Their gazes were that of equal astonishment.

  
"Y-Your Majesty..." her head sunk. "I... I apologize sincerely. With all of my heart. My tardiness... It is horrifically overwhelming..."

  
He did not utter a word to her; instead he continued to stare, causing her to cower somewhat, evoking an expression of shame.

  
"My housemates, you see... We were having some minor setbacks... Setbacks that aren't as easy to resolve. I will not lie to you; I had second thoughts about coming to see you as a result. I decided that I would stay at home... But then I thought of you. Of how you would be waiting here without any reward nor result... I could not do such a thing to you. But by the time this revelation came into play, it was already so late; I thought you may have given up and returned home long ago, yet I had to come. I had to come and apologize for being so selfish. I had to at least put forth an effort rather than let the opportunity rot... I am so sorry."

  
The Archduke seemed a tad shocked by her words, but this only lasted for a moment, for her soon, eyed the ground, then kneeled to retrieve the bruised bouquet laying scattered along the ground.

  
"Juliet..." he said as he gathered the stems. His tone, to her surprise, was gentle, almost unsettled still. "I... I am sorry to hear such a problem with your housemates..." he rose once again, the flowers in his grip. "In the truth of the matter, I should be the one apologizing..." they both studied the ruined flowers; they were irises, domesticated, once lovely. They were now beaten, bruised around their delicate edges, ripped and tattered, stems bent out of their straightness, brown from death. "I was not patient enough."

  
Concerned, Juliet hastily approached his presence, gazing at him directly into his cold sea green eyes.

  
"Nay, you waited much longer than I would have ever imagined. You awaited me for hours and I never came. The fault is entirely in me."

  
"We mustn't argue over this. The fault is in both of us whether we agree with such or not."

  
A blush crept across the girl's face as she shyly looked away.

  
"Ah. Perhaps that is an appropriate compromise..." she didn't particularly agree with what she just said. She kept playing at the game though, and she remained acting as though she had moved on from the subject. Her gaze fell upon the beaten bunch of flowers in his hand, then lightly smiled as she fixed it back up to his face. "Are these lovely blossoms meant for me?"

 

The Archduke eyed the blooms before furrowing his brows.

  
"At one point, indeed. But not now. Not when they suffered my wrath. You deserve more than ugly flowers. They're brown and beaten; not a soul wants what is damaged."

  
"Nay, nay, Your Majesty, let me have them, please. They are a gift from you. I adore how thoughtful you were to bring them here for me."

  
They both ended up grinning at one another there after, and they soon found themselves seated on a pew, side by side, lightly chatting, all while The Iris held her irises in her hands. The atmosphere, to her delight, was pleasant between the two of them; it was soft and sweet, promising peace. It was an odd feeling, even though it felt wonderful; it was on the brink of feeling terribly wrong. Feelings like these gradually started to worry her, but each time this concern dared to ease up inside of her, all she had to do for relief was direct her gaze up to the sky, where she would spy upon the golden clouds with a sigh.  
"And your week, Juliet? Has it treated you well?"

  
"Fairly. It went by fairly quick for a week to my surprise. I suppose that is a good thing; nothing of interest occurred, not even once. I did, however, often have thoughts of you. I was curious as to your well-being."

  
She watched him as he slowly turned his head away as though her were a guilty child, a guilty child pitifully trying to conceal his sins.

  
"Ah. My well-being..." he echoed dully. "My week has been rather stressful as you could imagine; the servants, the servants do not listen to me as they should. I rouse every morn with a pounding headache. I find not a single interval of time for relaxation besides night, in which I am asleep. And even then, my dreams... My dreams become an unbearable nuisance. They are all problems I want to go away."

  
"Dreams? Nightmares perhaps? What of?"

  
"Nothing to your concern. I did not come here to whine my problems to you, Juliet, I came to visit."

  
Hastily, she shook her head.

  
"Nay, nay, please tell me; dreams can be disturbing at times, and at several points, they are nothing it is healthy to shoulder on your own." she eased closer to him, barely brushing against his side with her hip. "So please; explain to me your dreams, and I shall listen and I shall do what I can to comfort."

  
There was a new expression found on The Archduke's face, one she's yet to see painted upon him. It consisted of a cloud in his eyes, a small line as his mouth, a pair of knotted brows above and groups of tense muscles all over. It was discomfort. Discomfort on the Archduke's face... It was such a profound sight Juliet simply could not take her eyes off of it.

  
"They're just dreams..." he sounded as though he was prepared to continue resisting, but then, suddenly, he turned his head away again, only this time, it was much further away. "They're not real. They're just visions that are not there. They're just visions of my mother and my father... They're just dreams."

  
"Your mind creates such visions..." she tried to follow his gaze. "Wherefore, Your Majesty? They are on your mind often, are they not?"

  
"My people are chasing after me, torches and blades in their hands. They are people I know, others I do not. They are pursuing after me along the tops of the castle, yelling curses at me, spitting in my direction, boarding dragonsteeds and taking flight after me. It's the same dream over and over again; I arrive at the south tower, when suddenly a man comes around the corner atop his steed, wielding a bow. It is my cousin, Benvolio, and he gives me this look, this hate wretched look before he fires an arrow into my shoulder, yet even with the pain, I could still run. I stumble. They seem to grow faster. And just as I trip and fall to the ground one last time, I look up and see everyone crowded around me, screaming, pelting my flesh with stones. And then, my late father rises from the ground before me, tearing apart the cobblestone, wielding an axe as he sets a grim stare upon me before bringing it down to my neck. It never goes away, this dream, and I always awaken drenched in sweat. It is something I-" he paused, then turned to gaze upon her. "I-I'm terribly sorry, Juliet, I meant not to go on and on about me and my troubles..."

  
Juliet, having heard every word he had said, felt her shoulders drop, as did her face, but her eyes remained upon him, brewing with compassion.

  
"They sound horrific." she commented lowly. "What do you suppose would remedy such visions?"

  
"I know not, you need to worry not. Perhaps we should change our subject."

  
"But Your Majesty... I wish to help you."

  
He grew quiet again, gazing at the ground, eyes thick with fog gathered around his pupils, which had shrunk to a very skinny slit, almost like that of a cat's.

  
"Talking with me should help." he said. Juliet was sure of it; he was lying again, lying to change the subject. She had no argument, nor an appropriate reason to; for all she may know, he might have been telling the truth and a pleasant conversation was all he needed. "Tell me about yourself, Juliet. Of your housemates?"

  
They went off on a long string of chatter, rabbit trailing all over, each bringing them to a new world of conversation, letting them stay there for hours to enjoy themselves. Even with a slight amount of discomfort inside of her from knowing that the man sitting next to her was her enemy, Juliet often found herself at ease, at ease enough to relax and set her back against the pew.

  
For many hours more the two talked into the night, gazing up at the stars as they continued on, their eyes wide with interest. It felt so odd; it felt so odd to see the boy like this. The brightness in the gaze that was always so cold, angry, stoic, it was so profound, Juliet sometimes questioned the things she had been told for so long. Yet at the same time, she began to question the safety in allowing herself to make herself comfortable around him. If this was the Montague boy Willy, Conrad, Curio and Francisco always went on and on to her about, she was in no safe position, and she was doing nothing but making herself more vulnerable with each passing minute.

  
But there was something in his gaze, however; something that made her compassion reach out to him. It was this certain warmth she's rarely seen in anybody's eyes. She's seen it once or twice in her fellow comrades, a few times more in the eyes of Cordelia, who was practically her sister... How could such a spiteful, hateful boy have the same look in his eyes as the ones in her life that love her so dearly? How could be possibly be able to fake such an expression.

  
No. It was impossible.

  
"Ah, yes, Juliet, have I told you? My mother's birthday is coming up in a week or so; I plan on holding a celebration in her honor on that day, that way all of the land shall know and appreciate her. After all, in my opinion, it is the very least my mother deserves..."

  
"A birthday?" she smiled. "How wonderful. I am confident that whatever you plan on doing for such, your mother shall have a smile upon her face and be overjoyed."

  
"She was a very humble woman. She did not like credit for anything, not even the flowers she spent so much time tending to; she always used to say it was not the handiwork of herself that made the blooms so spotless and beautiful, but it was the sovereign hand of God that allowed their petals to be so spectacular, blessing us with such a sight." there was a window of silence before his head perked. "Ah. Birthdays. I completely forgot to inquire, Juliet; on what day were you born?"  
A flush crept across her face as she pitifully tried to look away.

  
"You inquire... Of my birthday?" she smiled awkwardly. "How odd that you would ask such; I just celebrated my sixteenth birthday last Friday."

  
"Truly? And sixteen as well?" a small, barely visible, smile found itself on his lips. "What luck? That makes the two of us at age sixteen. My, odds are humorous, are they not? And for your birthday, did your housemates bring unto thee a special gift? Sixteen is the magic number they say."

  
For her birthday, Juliet received the truth. The truth about her massacred family, the truth of her name, the truth of Neo Verona's suffering, the truth that the Archduke was truly her nemesis... It was a gift, though helpful in explanation for many questions Juliet has held for the better half of her life thus far, she pondered upon for a long, long while. Did she like it? She wasn't so sure anymore.

  
She wanted ignorant bliss; she wanted to be in love with someone and feel no shame as she does now. How she wished that none of this was the case; how she wished that she wasn't a Capulet, or at least that her house and his house were not at literal war with one another... How she wished neither of them were who they were, only then did it seem as though things would sail smoothly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to govern an entire country, she wasn't sure if she wanted to reclaim her throne. The most she wanted was a simple life, she'd come to realize, a simple life with simple, pure love.

  
"A gift you ask..." she looked up in hesitation. "The supper we had that night was fantastic, that in itself is a marvelous gift."

  
"And nothing else?"

  
"N-Nay... Might you be searching for a different answer?"

  
She watched him as he turned his head again, heaving a sigh as he did so.

  
"Not at all. I was simply curious."

 


	10. A Gift and A Story

The Iris... She was surprisingly more insightful than she first appeared, for she had almost already seen what she had coming. The rest of their night went well; nothing of importance or attention worthy seemed to occur during the final hour or so of their meeting, but they left one another with a good note, The Rose insisting time after time to walk her back home with how dark it was. And, time after time, she declined, fearing that allowing him to accompany her would not be a wise decision, not with this war between their houses. He would know where she lived, he would know where her loyalists lived... He would even discover she lived, and belonged, among the commoners after bowing beneath the pretense of her being the member of an aristocratic family. Surely, surely he would lose the majority of his faith in her, she couldn't have that happen, not at all, not with her attempting to learn more about him and his weaknesses...

  
...At least that was what she kept on telling herself between the few days before their reunion; she was only meeting with him in secret because she wanted to get a lead on his ongoings in the castle; the state of his arms, the state of his health, when would be the best time for an attack... No, she didn't exactly want that to be the case, even though it was the only lie she could tell herself to justify her private conversations to herself.

  
"Tis but only a gathering of information. Yes. Only that. What did Conrad deem such an act again? Espionage. Yes. Espionage. Tis but espionage, nothing more."

  
Of course, deep down in that subconscious part of that brain of hers, she was well aware of why she had a desire to go see him again at the old church as she had promised last time. She knew it wasn't because of this 'espionage' flapdoodle.  
Now, she didn't exactly predict such a thing to occur at their second reunion at the old church because it was something she wanted, but it was mainly because the boy let on to it so... Definitely. As if he wasn't exactly trying to hide it. Either that, or she was just particularly keen on his face, which she originally thought to be virtually unreadable. What did it matter anyhow, she was spot on right, for the exact thing she predicted to occur happened to occur.

  
She found herself slowly prowling up the old, crumbling sandstone steps to the sanctuary, expecting to meet the sight of the boy wait on her just as last time, though much more mild than previously. Thank heavens, she was nowhere near late as she was just a few days earlier; why, she was sure to leave early just to be sure such a thing would not come to be once again. As one would figure, with her being relatively earlier than they had planned, Juliet was momentarily surprised to find the young man sitting at the front pew, gazing at her as she came up the steps.

  
And there, in his hands, which rested atop his lap, lay the very thing she figured he'd have with her thanks to his over foreshadowing during their previous visit. A box. It was a tiny, tiny box sitting in his hand, neatly wrapped in blue dyed cloth and topped off with a lovely white bow. A present. A present that, even though she was halfway expecting it, took her by surprise.

  
"Good evening, Juliet." he greeted her with the slightest of smiles. "I am pleased to see that you decided to come according to the time today. Have you gazed upon the sunset? It is quite a lavish I must say."

  
She smiled back, hers much more prominent upon her face, before she took a seat beside him.

  
"Ah, yes, and good evening to you as well, Your Majesty. I myself am pleased by the fact that I was not tardy for another go 'round."

  
He didn't seem to shy or willing to wait on an opportune moment to do so; The Archduke chuckled, a rumble surprisingly deep within his throat, as he brought his hand up from his lap, holding out the box to her.

  
"Yes, yes." he agreed. "I know this may be on the incorrect date, so take this as a year early or a few days late, whichever you fancy; either which way, I wish thee a happy birthday, Juliet."

  
The sight of the box being handed out to her seemed to flatter her mildly, for red didn't take long to come barging onto her face as though it was a farmer on free land. She gazed at this object carefully, gazing back and forth between it and its holder, each made her blush deepen and make her eyes to look elsewhere in hopes of escaping the attention. She was odd like that; when she dressed as the city's caped crusader, The Red Whirlwind, not once did she flush or become flattered at the attention and praise she received from the people. Yet now, look at her; embarrassed like a little girl.

  
"F-For me?"

  
"Of course. I recall you telling me a few days back that you never received a gift on your birthday, am I mistaken?"

  
"No, no, Your Majesty, but you... You haven't a need to bring me something... 'Twas but a silly birthday and nothing more after all..."

  
"True, but it was something I wanted to get for you. Silly as a birthday may be, it still only comes once a year, and on this day, we are to celebrate the anniversary of your introduction to the world..." the boy looked down. "I'm happy you were born. I'm happy to have you here to talk with me, so of course I would celebrate the day you took your first breath. Take the gift whether you like it or not; it would truly mean much to me."

  
The blush seemed to become thicker, creating a faster tempo in her chest. With a nervous smile she flashed to him, she gently removed the box from his hand, then held it in her own. She sat there for a moment, awkwardly, waiting for something to happen. Like maybe for the words she wanted to leave her mouth to leave already, or maybe for the sweat pouring from her crown to dam up and dry.

  
"D-Do you wish for me to open the gift now?"

  
He only nodded in response.

  
And so, with a pair of quivering hands, the girl set the box on her lap, carefully untied the tightly wrapped bow, then slowly began to unravel the ribbon from around the box's sides, allowing the cloth covering it to become loose and threaten to fall. The cloth was no challenge to remove, with only one or two little nudges, the box underneath was exposed to the outside word. The box, for a moment, was what she thought to be the gift; it was painted white, covered tightly by carefully installed leather, smooth and cool to the touch. Not a wrinkle was on it, not a sign of human fault... It was, in itself, something that caught her off guard, then bring her to a state of surprised delight.

  
The box was a beautiful thing, something she's yet to lay eyes upon until now; the sight itself was enough to bring her to a halt and gaze upon it, marveling upon its craftsmanship and prestige. This went on for a while, long enough for the boy at her side to anchor his brows and adjust his position.

  
"You study the box as though it is alien to your eyes." he said with a frown, his temper seeming to return. "Relieve me and explain to me that you were simply paused by a train of thought rather than being impressed by a petty box, Juliet."  
The color across her face seemed to grew even worse as she quickly gasped, then tightened the item of interest in her grasp. Ah yes, she was supposed to be an aristocratic girl around him; aristocratic women probably saw boxes such as these all of the time, it was a little thing, a petty thing as Romeo put it... Something so unimpressive, something that only fit in the palm of her hand.

  
"Ah. Yes. A train of thought. That was the matter." she laughed nervously. "Forgive me, you must be eager to see me look inside. I truly do apologize; I rarely have the time to correct my absent-mindedness, perhaps that should be something to adjust the next few-"

  
"Open the box, Juliet."

  
Well wether he was excited to watch her open her gift or just wanting to get onto another subject, The Rose wasn't the best at talking to women, at least talking to women he was trying to win the favor of. From the looks of it, Juliet could have sworn he didn't know how to speak to anyone...

  
But the gift inside was a lovely thing, something much more fascinating and attention-worthy than that silly box she spent too much time smiling over. It was a chain, a chain with tiny links, a small charm hanging from it. A metal charm. A metal charm smelted and crafted into the shape of an iris in bloom. The sight rendered her silent for a good while, surprised at the sight, marveling at it as she did the box. It was a piece of jewelry. A piece of jewelry! Not once had she ever had a string of jewelry, not one to call her own, much less such an expensive piece such as this.

  
"An anklet. Instead of being a bracelet as it may seem, it is, in all actuality, an anklet. Smelted from pure silver found burrowed in the Gradisca Mines." Romeo explained to her, his eyes looking into hers. "It is an anklet because of the piece's value; it isn't exactly something you would want to be seen by all as a bracelet would, lest the criminals will prey upon it. Wear it upon your ankle, that way you can enjoy it and be comforted by the fact that those looking to steal it shall not even know it is there." humbly, he held out his hand. "Do you like it? Shall I put it on for you?"

  
Juliet was quite for a moment, her eyes studying the charm upon it with a pair of concentrated eyes. There wasn't a lick of doubt born in her mind; it was a pendent in the shape of an iris bloom. It was an iris. This was so odd; the iris of all flowers was a gift he chose to put upon the gift he had intended for her. Of course she was sure he was aware that she happened to have a certain liking for such blossoms, but at the same time, it was the blossom he claimed tore him apart. He said it was the blossom he hated with all of his heart for what it represented. The name it coined.

  
Quickly, the girl snapped out of her small train of thought and took a deep breath, then, slowly, she turned to the boy, then smiled.

  
"Thank you." she said. "I fancy it sincerely. It is so expertly crafted and polished, a piece that is truly one of a kind. I shall treasure it dearly." she spoke the truth; she really did like the gift, more than she probably should in fact. Then gently, she placed the anklet in his palm, her fingers brushing against his. It was an odd feeling; the last time she had touched his hand was weeks ago, back when he held her palm as they danced. To add to the oddness of it, it was then she truly took notice of how his hands felt; they were rough, the skin layered atop his fingers were very rough, nothing she would care to have her bare skin against. Worn and rough. How odd for an Archduke, a boy who'd grown up pampered in royalty. "Please, if it is your desire to put it on for me, you are more than welcome."

  
He took the chain with a satisfied look on his face. Another odd thing for her to lay eyes upon. He took a moment or so to ask which ankle she wished to bare the piece upon, only for her to answer with a desire to be surprised. She was surprised. Not because of what ankle he chose, which was the right (not that it particularly mattered), but because he didn't seem to argue. She figured he would have. People almost always argued with her when she asked for them to choose rather than herself. How different.

  
And of course, this wasn't the end of their meeting on this brand new day; why, the meeting had just started, they would be fools to depart from one another so soon when they claimed they wanted to talk with one another. No, the two carried on to new subjects, similar to their last reunion, the only difference being the subject matter.

  
This wasn't particularly a good thing.

  
The subject matter was rather... Darker in contrast.

  
This wouldn't have been the case had a dragonsteed not flown overhead, its loud brays calling out through the wind, thieving them of their attention. It was swift as it passed by, carrying its master away. Now. Had that creature not appeared, Juliet would have never asked the question. Had Juliet never asked the question, the subject would have never arose.

  
Juliet, acting off her own accord of wishing to keep the flame of their conversation burning brightly, turned to him after giving her right let a brief shake to readjust the cold chain wrapped around her ankle, then cleared her throat.

  
"Might I ask thee a question, Archduke? Regarding dragonsteeds?"

  
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his dull eyes staring blankly to the weathered stone which was the floor. The sight almost set a feeling of regret inside of her; The Archduke was an odd one, sometimes the simplest, most innocent things, seemed to get him dreadfully uptight.

  
"Ay. You may." he finally replied, stiff as a board.

  
In response, Juliet carefully leaned back against the pew, her eyes gazing up at the golden sky, recalling just seconds ago as the creature soared over their heads.

  
"All of noblemen seem to own at least one steed. They are a practical manner of travel and excellent pets... I found it odd to see that there isn't one in sight around here, perhaps you chose to walk? Are you the master of a steed, Your Majesty?"

  
For a moment again, he was quiet.

  
"No. I do not own a dragonsteed."

  
"Wherefore?"

  
"Because."

  
"Because?"

  
"Wherefore does it matter so dearly to you?"

  
"That is an odd thing to hear from someone who stands in the position of having the opportunity to own such a creature. Do you not like them? Perhaps you harbor an unpleasant experience with a steed?"

  
She paused, continuing to look up to the sky. Then, as if it were a magnet somehow, something was calling out to her. It made a desire to well up inside of her. A desire to look at him. Funny. All of a sudden she felt as though she was being watched. That her eyes were being summoned some place. Being beckoned.

  
Slowly, she brought her eyes down. Romeo was staring at her. Staring at her with that cold, bitter gaze that intimidated her ever so. Chills ran down her spine, yet at the same time, her heart burst into flames. She grew frightened, fearing that she would lose control of herself and panic, but her worries were for not, for the entire time, she was still, gazing back into the pit of his pupils.

  
His pupils were do dark and black. They had no spark nor light. They were lifeless. Even so, even if they seemed to bare no life, they seemed to sweep her away onto a trip into somewhere unknown. Somewhere dark and ominous. It gave her a feeling of confinement, like being tied down to an upright log, riding on the caboose of a carriage through a dreary swamp. Her wrists were bound. Her feet wouldn't budge. Her gaze was so linear, for her head could not move. Then, the log she was tied so tightly to was being removed from the carriage once its wheels ceased to spin, then she was brought closer and closer to the edge of the swamp. Where dry ground kissed with murky water. It was dark. It was thick. She didn't know what was in it. No. She didn't want to go in there. She couldn't move. No. She would be hurt. No. She couldn't break free. She couldn't swim to the surface. She couldn't get her head above the water. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't escape. She couldn't move. Her vision was starting to blacken. She couldn't see. She could only feel. She was being drug down. Down, down, down. She couldn't see the surface anymore. She couldn't find the light.

  
"I had a dragonsteed once when I was a child." his voice drug her out of the vision, snapping her back into reality, where she found herself damp with sweat. "His name was Cielo. He was bestowed upon me as a birthday gift from my mother just a year after she divorced my father and moved to the convent on the opposite end of the city. He was no larger than a hound when I first received him, but he was young and beautiful; the only pure white dragonsteed in all the country. He oft took me to visit mother when his wings spread from his shoulders. He gave me an escape and a sense of friendship. He truly had a loving personality. He cared, even when he was just an animal."

  
Juliet found herself stiff no longer, thus her muscles gradually started to relax; bit by bit, as she slowly brought her hands to her lap, hoping to settle herself down. She eyed him, interest in her gaze, as she took a nice slug of her saliva, then dared to grant her lips permission to part.

  
"Cielo? What a lovely name he bore. You told me you own not a single steed; where might Cielo be as of now?"

  
"Do you believe animals go to Heaven when their time here is done, Juliet?"

  
She froze, not even her eyes blinked, not even when they burned of dryness. She became stiff once more, not exactly to her surprise, and, ever so slowly, she gave herself just a centimeter's space from him atop the pew, her chest rising and falling hastily.

  
"That..." she looked down, trying to avoid his gaze. "That is not a question I know how to answer. Heaven and Hell are both scary thoughts. They are the only two places no man has ever gone to and returned to tell the masses of, therefore we know only what is told of us from God. Perhaps-"

  
"Answer my question. Do you believe animals go to Heaven?"

  
"I-I... I would certainly hope so."

  
"Well, should your hopes be ever so, Juliet, Heaven is where my dear Cielo would roam. There he would neigh happily, and he would graze upon the grass that never yellows nor fades."

  
Silence rang between the two of them.

  
"How so?" her heart, she didn't notice at first, was beginning to sink. "In what manner did death so cruelly steal Cielo away?"  
"Illness. It was an illness. An illness the medicines failed to remedy. Illness was what stole Cielo." he looked away. "I do not believe I can recall the last time I spied upon a dragonsteed without thinking of his brilliant white coat or that cheerful neigh he would always deliver to me when I was down. That is why I would never like to own, nor ride, another steed again, lest my heart would surely plummet into the abyss unknown."

  
It was a surprising thought to think of Romeo, the cold hearted murderer of his father, perhaps more, to be so tender in regards to an animal. Juliet could not personally say that she bore a strong connection with an animal such as a dragonsteed, but even so, the story was something she felt as though she could relate to completely. What an odd thought. To think of a young Romeo, smiling and laughing, his hair blowing through the wind as he rode atop his believed friend, Cielo, high up in the air where nothing could touch them. Then, to think of a young Romeo standing over a poor Cielo as he lay, taking his final breaths. Perhaps it was then he started to become bitter. No. He couldn't be set off by the death of an animal. Many have experienced such a heartache, yet they fair quite fine even so.

  
What a mystery.

  
What made him the way he is?

  
Evil?

  
Perhaps it may be something else, just as she was starting to wish to be the case.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ah. Good evening, Your Majesty, you return at quite an hour; to where have your whereabouts strayed?"

  
Mercutio stood in the foyer of the castle, sitting upon a green cushioned couch when the tall double doors swung open, revealing a walking Archduke stiffly making his way down the hall. The Archduke eyed the man swiftly and coldly, then anchored his brows as he slowly turned away.

  
"And what man or God gave you the audacity to ask me such? You are not my mother, nor are you my father, therefore your business lingers nor mingles with my own. Whether or not I tell you of my whereabouts is based solely upon my accord, and you shall learn to respect that." he watched as Mercutio, wide eyed and pale faced, rise from his couch, then humbly bow.

"Tell the maids to draw a bath for me. I shall prepare to retire soon."

 


	11. A Reminder

_"Hey! Arturo! Pass the ball unto me! I shall pass it to Tomasso and devise a plan to work it to the goal!"_

_  
"Nay, nay, Arturo! Pass the ball unto me! He knows not how to properly kick a ball and score a point! Pass it unto me! Hurry!"_

_  
"Ha, ha! Thou fools! You know not how to even work together!"_

_  
"Oh truly? Witness as follows! Ha!"_

_  
"A-Amazing! How in heavens were you able to score a goal at such a distance, Arturo? Three points for our team; take such into account, adversaries!"_

_  
"Yea, yea, brag all to your hearts content, but also take into account that such words shall surely be eaten later on! This game's yet to end!"_

_  
"Hey!"_

_  
The entire game came to a complete halt the second he called out to them. They watched as he stepped into the small field they'd cheaply created with sticks and nets, watched as his boots beat against the ground, mindfully avoiding anything that didn't need to be stepped upon. They watched him with pairs of narrow eyes, and quickly, their complete attention abandoned the once popular ball. It was on him now. The boy who'd just called out to them, a humble smile printed across his face._

_  
"Look not now, but there comes a familiar face prowling on our field." one said with a fiendish snicker. "My, my; what could a boy like you want, O Archduke want-to-be?"_

_  
The boy continued to smile, then tried to laugh along._

_  
"Oh, patronize me not, please. I could not help but see the lot of you running about and kicking your ball with such enthusiasm. I came to inquire; might I join you in your game?"_

_  
"Ah. What a shame. We've already too many players, Montague. Perhaps another time." another added, a short comment following. "Perhaps never."_

_  
"Pardon me, but I couldn't help but notice; there are seven of you in this lot, an uneven number, therefore a team is with an extra player. What an unfair disadvantage. You claim that is too many players?"_

_  
"I suppose so. What difference would the team lacking a player get when having you playing along side us? It wouldn't be any different whether you're playing or not, in fact, you would likely burden the team if anything."_

_  
"Hey, hey, no need to be mean to the boy; he's just as old as we, perhaps we can settle this as we do with each other." one abandoned the lot, the approached the boy, looking down at him with a menacing smirk. "You've quite a responsibility hanging over your shoulders, Montague. You should spend your time preparing. You never know when one day the rope suspending your responsibility will snap and come crashing down upon thee." he brought his fist up, then roughly set it on his shoulder._

__  
"Yea. You should be off at the castle mingling with the women; you will need an archduchess for when you take the throne."  
"Oh yes. You also have to drink wine, that way you will be ready to spend your days drunken and beating your wife as you rule; you'll be just like your father."

_  
The boy's eyes widened, his smile disappeared, his hands balled up into fists, his pupils became narrow like a snakes. The bridge of his nose wrinkled like a furious tiger as he eyed the boy who said such harsh words; his words came out like blistering fire from a dragon's mouth._

_  
"You! How dare you compare and put me on the same level my father!" he exclaimed angrily. "To hades with thee! I'll have you know that even though my father spends his days sipping away at a bottle, he still has power to exercise! I can easily tell him of your words and you shall surely be punished!"_

_  
"Oh? You believe he cares of what we say unto thee? You believe you are significant in his eyes?"_

_  
The boy, furious, narrowed his eyes._

__  
"I am his son." he spat. "He would tend to my needs should I bring them to him. You're fooling thyself to believe otherwise."  
The other boy, the one in front of him, crossed his arms with a smirk, which was gradually transforming into a menacing grin. With a brow raised, he chuckled, then shook his head.

_  
"With all due respect, O high and mighty son of the drunkard, the Archduke Leantes." he laughed. " It is thee who is apparently fooling thyself. Your father, never in hades, would care for you. You know that."_

_  
"I deem that incorrect." he argued._

_  
"Oh truly?" another one of the boys approached him. "Then go. Run back to the castle and tattle on us for not allowing you to play with us, thou spoiled brat."_

_  
"Never did I say unto thee that I would tattle on behalf of you all due your reluctance to allow me to play. I simply will not tolerate your manner of speech to me and in regards to my father, The Archduke."_

_  
"Then go. Go tell. See us be punished to satisfy yourself."_

_  
There was a period of silence. The boy simply stood there, staring the boys down with a cold gaze. It was when the cold gaze was young. Anger was evident in them, yet somehow, none of the boys seemed to cower. This went on for at least a minute or more, all of them standing motionlessly, that is until one of the boy's smiles widened, where he began to laugh._

_  
"What's this I spy upon? Is it a boy who is not going to his father who he is so confident would bring him justice?" he brought his fist into the air, then brought it down to the boy's face, smacking him square in the nose. "Wake up, Montague! You cannot scare us with your idle threats! None of your name prevails justice! Your name only know what is not just, it only knows that which is selfishness and sloth!"_

_  
His nose burned where the blow had landed, it summoned his hand up to nurse it, tears involuntarily gathering at the brim of his eyes. He released a snarl from his mouth, then brought his gaze up to the group, his brows furrowed._

_  
"Oh dear me; have I made the young Archduke cry? Whatever shall we do? Shall we allow him to play with us?"_

_  
"Nay, nay; babes aren't coordinated enough to run and kick a ball; he needs to return to his mother that way he may nurse and-"_

_  
"I've heard enough!"_

_  
He pounced on one of the boys, his teeth born before they sunk into his ear, furiously yanking upon it, drawing a shout from his victim. He clung onto him like a leech, burying his nails in his flesh, clawing at it like an enraged cat. But, of course, he took a bite off that he could not chew; the other boys were soon surrounding him, beating him, prying him off of the other boy. And before he knew it, he was brought down to the ground, where an unbearable amount of weight stocked atop him as pound after pound found itself a home on his face, his neck, even all the way down to his chest._

_  
Pound,_

_  
pound,_

_  
pound_

_  
pound._

_  
He was on the verge of plummeting into the abyss of blackness, his struggles became less and less, crimson spewing from his nose, masking his face. But then, all of the sudden, there came a voice through the blackness which was slowly consuming his vision. It was muffled. He could barely hear it. He grew fearful, believing it was some boys coming to join in the beating. But instead, it was his savior._

_  
"Hey! Boys! Get up and scram! Go home to your mothers and cause trouble no more!"_

_  
The beating, as if on a dime, came to a halt, where the boys looked behind themselves. They seemed to meet a sight they didn't appear to favor, for the second they turned around, they shouted in fear, then abandoned his body, which lay on the ground, still as a statue._

_  
"It's the Carabinieri!"_

_  
"Run! Get away!"_

_  
Their footsteps grew distant as they fled the scene, leaving only the boy to remain unmoving. Wheezes escaped his mouth, then his eyes slowly opened, gazing up at the gray sky, watching as the dark clouds rolled along at a surprisingly fast pace. Reality, suddenly, seemed to make no sense to him as his head span._

_  
The next thing he knew, he was staggering through the streets, darting to the dark alleys and crannies, dragging his feet and leaning against the wall, griping his arm tightly. Drops of crimson fell from his chin, then splattered on the stone ground, leaving them is his tracks. He heaved. Then heaved. Then heaved. Then forced himself to take another step. He fell often. Yet somehow, out of sheer determination, he brought himself up, groans escaping his mouth._

_  
It took him nearly an hour to get there, a pair of tall, iron gates that towered over him. His quivering hand worked at the latch; pulling it up was harder than he thought it would be, yet even so, he forced himself. He made the latch come up, his brows furrowed and his teeth clamped against one another, just on the brink of shattering them._

_  
She was there, crouching in the center of the garden, weeding the flower bed littered with spotless irises. She was just as beautiful as she always was, a serene expression written on her face as she worked, dressed in a fine white gown. She hadn't seen him yet. When she did, she would find him standing there. Eyes distant. Posture slouched. Crimson covering his face. Blackness surrounding either of his eyes. Blood streaming from his nostrils. Purple spotting his neck. His tunic ripped and torn, stained with green and red. Wheezes escaping his gaping mouth._

_  
It wasn't long before her eyes met such a sight, and when she did, the pupils in her eyes shrunk, and quickly, she rushed to him, her arms spread out, worry plastered on her face._

_  
"Dear heavens!" she exclaimed in horror as she bent down and scooped the boy into her arms. "Oh Romeo; what force of the devil could have inflicted such wounds upon thee?"_

_  
He buried his face into the crook of her neck, allowing tears to stream down his cheeks._

_"Them all. They're all devils, mother." he hugged her tightly. "Please; let me stay for a while."_

_  
"Yes, yes..." she turned around, heading towards the convent. "Of course you can stay."_

_  
Oh Lady Portia, the dear mother of little Romeo. She was his solace, a pair of arms to dash to when his back was against the wall. He had grown past the shame or embarrassment that shrouded his mind when he came running to her; all his life he'd been told that a man would never come crying to his mother. He often reasoned with himself. Brainwashed himself with excuses. He was still young, young enough to still cry for a mother's love._

_  
Oh Lady Portia, may the good lord above forever bless her soul; she somehow loved what couldn't be loved. Even though the iris was considered damned all through out the land by the word of The Archduke, she still tended to them in her garden with just as much care as the other blooms. Even though her son was the barer of the now dirty Montague name, even though he had the same cold gaze as the merciless man she once deemed husband, she still walked into her room the next day, a certain article of interest in her hands._

__  
"Look, Romeo." she smiled sweetly to him, watching as his eyes tiredly fluttered open, then slowly bring himself up from the bed upon which he rest, allowing a damp clothe to slide from his forehead. "Look at what I have salvaged for the two of us."  
He looked at her, pausing momentarily in attempts to awaken himself, before a smile spread across his face; a wide grin. She stood next to him holding an old kickball covered in tattered leather, on the verge of being completely torn apart. 

_  
"M-Mother?"_

_  
"You know I am to wear a skirt at all times as I pledged to the convent, therefore you are not permitted to sprint full tilt with all of that energy of yours, am I clear?" she released a giggle. "Let us go outside and play, son; we will make more fun together than those foolish noble children could ever have on this bright sunny day God_ _has blessed us with."_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had awoken before the sun even thought to shine that morning, voices ringing clearly through his head. He could not find the will to return to the realm of sleep. Nothing could bring him back if that was truly the case.

  
So instead, he went through his normal routine; he brought himself up from the large bed he had laid upon, allowing his feet to touch the cold tile floor below, fetch the royal blue robe hanging from the coat rack to the right of his bed, then slip it on over his body. He wandered around his spacious room aimlessly, ignoring the thunder booming just outside his window. For long periods of time, he would linger in the corner, sitting there with his back to the room.

  
He liked this corner. He liked dark places. He liked to hide, even when there was not a soul to even bother hiding from. Some have spied upon him sitting there, silently watching with wonder. How could he sit somewhere doing absolutely nothing for so long? What kinds of thoughts were going through a mind such as his? Not a single body had a clue, nor did they conduct any investigation of sort with endeavors towards discovery. It was best left a mystery. It was best left to be dubbed "The Archduke's Happy Place."

  
The thunder carried on, trying to pull him away from his thoughts. He was hard-headed, though; he gave the thunder a challenge. But the thunder, being thunder, grew angry at being ignored, so it gathered the most powerful roar it could muster, then unleashed it over the land, causing the boy to bring his head up. His green eyes, hard as steel, were wide, pupils tiny. He stood to his feet, then made his way over to the tall window that led onto the balcony. There, he stood, gazing out to the city. He couldn't see much due to the night and the storm. That didn't appear to bother him.

  
His mind was, obviously, elsewhere, concentrating on one particular, potentially sinister, thought that led him to lean against the window, hoping to relieve his muscles. A plan. He was devising a plan. Of course. It was hard to out do a Montague when it came to formulating plans. He always had plans. Plans for every situation ranging from enemy attacks to commoner uprising. He had it all ahead of him. He was always one step ahead of the game.

  
"Oh, mother..." he barely whispered, trailing after another roar. "I've more to do for you. You're not at peace yet. Forgive me for taking so long, your son gets distracted awful easily. I shall get upon it the soonest I can." his eyes narrowed. "I shall purge the land of Capulet in your name, dear mother. Please, rest in peace of this knowing. I love you ever so."


	12. The Archduke's Mercy

Running to the market. It was always the chore of Juliet and Antonio. As one would expect from a pair of kids, the chore was an undeniably tedious killjoy for the two of them. They always had to study the produce as though they were world-class detectives, scan its entire being in search of blemishes or bruises. The prices were fair, but even so, Juliet always felt a certain annoyance when handing money over to the stall keepers. Perhaps she had an over attachment to money? No, she knew it was money that sustained herself and her family, therefore it was a hard thing to see go.

  
Antonio's least favorite part was carrying the produce back to the theatre; he was in constant fear of dropping a basket or two, ruining their newly purchased food. He knew Juliet would surely be outraged with him after forking money over for such a thing, and his grandfather would certainly act somewhere among the lines of similarity. So they both didn't like doing their job, that is why they, being partners in crime, always sighed and grumbled as they did.

  
"Hey, Juli- I mean- Odin."

  
"I listen, Antonio."

  
"Has the thought of exchanging chores ever appealed to thee?"

  
Juliet raised her head in disgust.

  
"Why not at all!" she exclaimed. "Cordelia said unto me that we have the selection between two chores: making market trips or cleaning the theatre. There is no way on the green fields of the earth I am cleaning the entire theatre; it is much too large and it is nothing I would take enjoyment in." afterwards, she surveyed the building about her. "Besides." she added. "Getting out of the theatre is good every now and then; The Red Whirlwind would never know what goes about in his town if he never gets out to investigate."

  
Antonio too raised his head.

  
"Ah. Excellent point, Odin. Perhaps what is going on today is a prime example of such."

  
"I beg your pardon?"

  
They drew to a halt in the middle of the street, just inches away from the city's square.

  
"Look there, Odin." Antonio gestured with his head thanks to two full hands. "There is quite a fuss going on. It appears that the Carabinieri's involved."

  
On a dime, Juliet's head shot over to the direction of the square. The wooden platform, the site of many executions, was heavily occupied both on top of it and around it, all of the people screaming and shouting. Uniformed men all stood at the platform's top, shouting gibberish she failed to understand from the distance from which she stood. Even so, Juliet did not like the words due to their tone. It caused her mouth to gape open and her brows to drop.

  
"Dear heavens..." she started, then carelessly threw her baskets to Antonio. "I must investigate! You stay as you are!"  
Antonio rushed to catch the baskets, balancing the contents that was in his own in the meantime. He released a shout, but, unfortunately, one of the small baskets toppled over, spilling tomatoes and apples all around the ground.

  
"Confound it, Odin!" he exclaimed as he set everything down and quickly went to work. "Do you not see what your recklessness has done?

  
Juliet was already far gone into the crowd, shoving through the people to plow herself all the way to the front. Her eyes, concerned, kept on the Carabinieri, watching as they continued to shout over the crowd. The crowd was angry at their words.

"Behold! I've a message to the Red Whirlwind from the Archduke himself! My men and I have come unarmed in hopes of displaying peace! Red Whirlwind! Come out so that I may deliver His Majesty's message!"

  
She felt her eyes widen. A message to The Red Whirlwind... From none other than Romeo. He had something he wanted to say to her. A message for her. For the Red Whirlwind. What on earth could such a message say? What could Romeo possibly want that he would send his men out to the city without a single weapon on their person? Something wasn't right. She simply had to know what such a matter was over.

  
Quickly, Juliet plowed her way back out of the crowd, rushing towards Antonio with her fists clenched with determination. Antonio noticed her rushing back over to him just as he stood, finished with retrieve the produce which had fallen.

"Odin!" he called. "What is the matter? What gives you such an expression of urgency?"

  
Juliet grabbed her share of baskets, then started to sprint back in the direction to the theatre, heading for the path that was their shortcut.

  
"I shall explain to you as we return to the theatre! We must make haste!"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Red Whirlwind! I beg of you to show yourself! His Majesty reaches out to you peacefully in hopes of delivering this message! This is something you must hear!"

  
"Seal thy lips, criminal!" one of the enraged commoners exclaimed. "You know nothing more than that which is lying! The Red Whirlwind is smarter than to fall for your insolent tricks! He will not show himself because he knows you mean nothing but peace! You wish to-"

  
"It is you who needs to be silenced, hag!" one of the Carabinieri men furrowed his brows. "This matter is only between His Majesty and The Red Whirlwind!"

  
The chattering went on, as did the yelling, causing discord and disturbance throughout the entire city, drawing more and more out of their houses to join in the ruckus, hoping to shoo the men away. But they went nowhere; they stayed put, continuing to call out to The Red Whirlwind in hopes of his appearance.

  
"Please, Red Whirlwind! I raise my white flag, I've not a single scheme up my sleeve! I speak for our Archduke as well!"

"Nay, nay! Silence fiend! Go elsewhere and cause discord no more!"

  
"Away with the Carabinieri!"

  
"Away!"

  
"Away!"

  
"Enough!"

  
The crowd suddenly grew silent upon the last shout, then their gaze was immediately directed up to the roof of a building, gazing with surprise on their faces. There they stood, the two of them, Juliet and Antonio, The Red Whirlwind and his accomplice, both in their appropriate disguises.

  
Her red cloak fluttered in the wind, just as the thin brim of her hat. Confidence had trademarked her face, decorated with a smirk and a pair of gleaming eyes as she set her hand atop the hilt of the sword welded to her hip. She looked down at the crowd, watching as they scrambled about, shouting to her, trying to convince her to go elsewhere. But like the Carabinieri, she went nowhere, but stayed put on the top of the building where she was far from reach.

  
"Tell me, O Carabinieri! For what reason do you come down to the commons and create such a ruckus? For what reason do you stand atop the platform in the center of the town and shout as though thou art a salesman?"

  
"Red Whirlwind!" the Carabinieri's leader, Cerimon, dropped to his knees, bowing to her. The sight alone was enough for her to heighten her suspicion. "We have come on behalf of The Archduke Romeo Cadore Van DeMontague! We have come to deliver a message he commanded us to give to you the moment you showed!"

  
Juliet raised a brow.

  
"Oh truly?" she said, pretending she had no foreknowledge. "Tell me; what kinds of words does a young man such as himself have to share unto my ears?"

  
"Listen to him not, O Champion of Justice!"

  
"They're liars! They are thieves! They will surely kill you! You are a mouse and they are a cat trying to find a way to trap you!"

  
"Do not listen!"

  
"Be gone from here! They tell not the truth!"

  
The screaming went on and on; it was enough to cause Antonio to approach her from behind, dressed clad in his cloak, a clearing of his throat.

  
"My." he whispered. "They are quite convinced. Should we withdraw the decision to listen to what they have to tell?"

  
"Nay, Antonio." Juliet narrowed her eyes. "The Archduke would not normally play in such a fashion. He seems not like the type."

  
"But Odin!" he hissed. "The Archduke is a rotten liar! If he wants you dead, he will stop at nothing until you are dead! You are obviously a threat to him and his ruling; if you are there as a poster child for rebellion, he would want you out of the picture for his own sake the soonest possible."

  
"We are going through with it." she left him no time to argue before he lifted her head to the crowd. "Enough! I've heard enough! I wish to hear the words The Archduke has for me! Should none of this stop, I can promise to you all that I will feel injustice myself and withdraw from this city! I do not bluff!" the entire silenced, awe struck on their faces, just as Antonio. He obviously tried to butt in to ask why Juliet would make such a serious threat to the people she wished to protect, but no matter his attempts, she would not lend him her attention. Finally, she eyed the Carabinieri once more, frowning at them before giving them a nod. "Tell me what needs to be said."

  
The man remained upon his knees, but his voice rang perfectly clear through the silence among them.

  
"His Majesty bares a request for you; he has asked that you appear in the castle to hold a private meeting with him today. He means peace; that is why we have come before you today without weapons." he lifted his head. "The matter is important! Even though we will not retaliate if you decline, I must ask you to comply! His Majesty is willing to do anything to display that he comes without intentions of harm!"

  
Antonio crossed his arms.

  
"Fools!" he hissed. "To think we would fall for such a petty trick! This approach is pitiful! Do they take us for fools?"

  
"The Archduke does not take us for fools." Juliet continued to stare out to the crowd. "Nor should we take him for a fool. He would not make this shallow of a move. He has something he legitimately wants to share."

  
Antonio's eyes widened in horror.

  
"Y-You are not trying to say what I think you are, are you?" he inquired.

  
She wasn't sure. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to know what he had to say. She recalled listening to his stories; the stories of his nightmares and of Cielo... He spoke truthfully sometimes. She's somehow developed an amateur ability to tell when he is and isn't lying.

  
What Juliet was secretly hoping for was that her answer was not made on behalf of a subconscious desire that secretly wanted to see him again. There hasn't been a day that goes by without his face coming to mind. The chain wrapped around her ankle wouldn't allow her to forget about him for any more than a few minutes. She had to admit; part of her response was controlled by a small desire to check on him, to see how he was doing.

  
Yes.

  
The Iris wanted to see The Rose for the sake of seeing how his wellbeing fared.

  
She arrived at the front of the castle at eighteen hundred as she had promised later on that say, Antonio nervously at her side. He wasn't the most thrilled to be with her, he was against the idea since the beginning, yet he simply refused to allow her to go alone, that was why his pouch contained extra smoke bombs; they would at least be prepared should the entire meeting turn out to be a hoax all along.

  
This was the very first time Juliet had ever been inside the castle with the exception of the ballroom. She had to admit, the beauty of the building left her feeling infatuated, almost robbed. She couldn't help but think, think about the fact that this was actually something that belonged to her. This was owned by her name, not that boy's...

  
Antonio seemed to be mildly impressed himself, for his shoulders shed a knot or so, and his eyes darted all over the place. The pillars stood tall, towering over them, making them seem puny. Banners hung from different floors, chandeliers were mysteriously beautiful with their golden light, the tiles beneath their feet where like perfect mirrors. The sight was enough to make them relax ever so slightly. But, when many guards suddenly came from a door, both of them became tense, watching as they approached the two of them ever so slowly.

  
"Red Whirlwind." one muttered. "Come with us if you will. His Majesty is waiting for you."

  
"Halt a moment." the men turned around to gaze upon her, staring at her as she cleared her throat. "I recall The Archduke promising that he will commit any act for the sake of enforcing his point that he means peace, am I mistaken?"

  
"Not at all sir."

  
"Then please, abandon your weapons before we continue."

  
The guard exchanged glances for a moment, carrying out a conversation with the looks they gave one another before one finally shrugged, then headed over to the wall of the foyer, where he set his spear on the ground. The others soon did the same.

  
"Does that suit to your liking?" one asked once every man laid down his weapon. Juliet couldn't help but smile.

  
"Indeed."

  
She and Antonio were led down the deep halls of the castle before finally coming to a halt before a pair of double doors, grand as can be, for they stood nearly three times their size. The sight baffled the two of them; they took a good moment to study the marvelous door before looking to one of the guards by their side.

  
"This is the room in which his Majesty resides." one said. "Please. He awaits you."

  
Antonio looked to the ground, then to the knife equipped to his belt loop and the sword at Juliet's hip.

  
"He cares not if we bring our weapons inside his room? This is a private meeting, correct? That means he will be all alone with two armed people."

  
"His Majesty wishes not to disarm you for the sake of your comfort. I would not advise attacking him, however. We will not make any violent moves or gestures on our own accord, but be aware that if you attack, we attack. Think intelligently if you will."

  
Juliet didn't really seem to stick around to hear everything the man had to say, for she was already pushing the door open, ready to meet the man that summoned her. And, of course, she found him there, lounging on a n armchair in the heart of the enormous bedroom. His piercing green eyes stared directly towards her.

  
Even though she was slightly nervous, she held her head high, then strut towards him ever so slowly, Antonio soon rushing to her side as the door shut behind them. They were alone. Just her, Antonio... and him. Once she arrived before him, she set a foot before herself, then dipped her head as she humbly removed her hat.

  
"Good evening, Your Majesty." she greeted lowly, trying to make extra sure that her voice was masked. Antonio was sure to mirror her actions stiffly, but quickly. The Archduke narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at the sight of the two of them, then cleared his throat.

  
"Likewise for you." he returned as he sat up. "Forgive me, I had no knowledge of your sidekick accompanying you, otherwise I would have been sure to prepare another cup of tea. He is welcome to mine." he motioned to a low table, it stood before a sofa he then motioned for them to sit upon. A pair of saucers sat upon its surface, hosting position for teacups, both with a steady line of steam rising from their brim.

  
"No need to fret." Juliet replied. "We do not drink tea anyhow."

  
"Lies. You believe the tea has been poisoned. Shall I drink from both cups to prove to you that they are not?"

  
"That will not be necessary."

  
"Oh? Then you believe me?"

  
"I do."

  
"Then why not drink? Have you a phobia of tea?"

  
"Nay, I simply..." Juliet fond herself gazing off to the side. "I simply do not wish to drink it. That is all."

  
She didn't know why this was. She didn't know why she was having such a difficult time talking to him all of a sudden. She didn't know why this aura of distrust suddenly swept over her and caused her to tighten her face and raise her guard. She never felt like this as she posed as her normal self. When she was Juliet, she felt at ease, so comfortable and warm... This was the same boy as before, did she feel this discomfort because she truly thought he meant harm?

  
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," Antonio suddenly opened his mouth, drawing their gaze down to him. Momentarily, his voice caused Juliet to feel a chill rush down her spine. "I harbor not a lick of trust towards you. Please, if you mean well, I would like for you to prove it to me as you offered."

  
A smile spread across The Archduke's lips as he gazed at Antonio, his cold eyes staring directly at him, trying to peer through the shadow of his hood.

  
"Why of course." he purred as he reached for a cup. "I would be more than happy to. Funny as this may sound, you remind me of myself when I listen to your voice and spy upon your face, at least you remind me of myself back when I was your age..." he paused his speech when he, without hesitation, brought the brim of the cup to his lips, then took a sip. It was a sip all right. Juliet knew he was drinking from it. He wasn't faking it. The noise was not something a man could emulate on command. When he was done, he slowly removed the glass from his mouth, then gently set it back upon its saucer. Not once did his eyes leave Antonio, especially as he then held the china out to him. "Careful." he said. "The tea is still hot. Scalding actually."

  
Antonio seemed rather surprised at the gesture, it rendered him motionless for a good while before he slowly looked up to eye the girl at his side, arch his brows, then slowly take the tea from The Archduke's hand before allowing his feet to lead him to the light green couch. Romeo didn't watch him as he sat, for he was much too busy spying upon Juliet. Gazing at her. Studying her. All with that shiver inducing gaze.

  
It was odd to see him like this; so clam, so mild mannered. Yet even so, at the same time, she felt threatened, even when he gave no hints to anything sinister. He didn't even need hints to make him seem sinister. Juliet suddenly grew frightened; she thought to herself for a moment, then came to a final conclusion; if her foresight was correct, it was here and it was now Romeo would finally unmask his true character. As Juliet, he acted like a gentleman towards her, that was, more likely than not, because he had a certain attraction towards her, either that, or he was just acting nicely. Either way, there always seemed to be a catch. She needed to see his business face. How did he act before someone he utterly despised? There was only one way to find out.

  
"So then, Red Whirlwind, would you care to take your tea? Or perhaps you've still not enough trust?"

  
"Pardon me. It may be a long while before you capture my trust."

  
"Then shall I sip yours as well?"

  
"You told my sidekick here that it is scalding. You probably have a singed tongue by now, do you not? Why would you want to scald it even more?"

  
"Trust me, Red Whirlwind, I've grown a certain tolerance to pain, so it will be no hassle. Besides, I cannot have my guest feeling discomfort; allow me to help you feel at ease before we discuss what I had in mind."

  
She fell silent once again, staring at him. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to trust him so badly. So, she had to force herself to. She had to force herself to frown and cross her arms. Force herself to slowly give him a nod. Force herself to sit beside Antonio on the light green sofa.

  
"So be it then; prove thyself."

  
She had to force herself to watch a smile spread across his lips.

  
"Of course." he said as he reached for the last remaining cup on the table. "We can't have the city's Champion of Justice fall ill, now, can we?" A slurp roused from the tea cup, but his eyes wouldn't leave her face. He stared at her, studying her as though she was a creature he'd never laid eyes upon; it caused her great discomfort. But then, finally, the boy's lips parted from the brim, and, with that same smile he had on earlier, he reached for the saucer, then handed them both to her.

"Careful, now. Being the hero of the city doesn't give you the slightest of immunity to burning your tongue."

  
She had to force herself to reach out and take the two from his hands, her fingers gently wrapping around its handle. But not even a moment later, something caught her eye. This something brought a flush to erupt across her cheeks. It wasn't the mint leaf swirling amongst the brown whirlpool, nor was it the little hill of sugar gathered down at the bottom. It wasn't the elegant roses painted upon its sides. It wasn't the voluptuous shape of the cup. It was on the brim. On the very brim of the cup, there was a certain patch which reflected light more than any other part; the place where the Archduke had place his lips. Where he drank from the cup.

  
She couldn't bare the thought of drinking from the same place; she would surely die of embarrassment.

  
"You flush, Red Whirlwind." The Archduke said suddenly, bringing her from her trance-like state of thought. It caused her head to bring up quickly, the tea sloshing around, nearly spilling out from the cup. Her flush grew deeper.

  
"W-Worry not." she grumbled, keeping her tone low out of fear that she may slip up. "As of late, I have been feeling feverish. It shall surely reside in due time."

  
"Ah. What a shame..." he brought himself to sit up. "If that is the case, I greatly appreciate your willingness to answer my call."

  
She frowned, then furrowed her brows.

  
"Yes, speaking of which," she dared to gaze into his cold, lifeless eyes. "You called me with such urgency, enough urgency to send your men out into the city unarmed, enough urgency to allow two armed men into your own room when you've nothing to defend yourself with."

  
He nodded.

  
"The neither of you wouldn't attack an unarmed man, wouldn't that be so?" he asked. "That would certainly be a very poor example of 'justice,' don't you agree?"

  
Both she and Antonio remained silent, staring at the ground instead of him. It was then Antonio brought the cup to his mouth, blowed on the tea, then dared to take a sip.

  
"Is it over justice we've come to converse?" he inquired.

  
The Archduke took the moment to gaze at him, a frown printed on his lips.

  
"Nay." He answered, his voice gentle. "I've actually called you today to ask of you a favor."

  
At that moment, Juliet brought her head up, her eyes clouded with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He had never told her about calling upon the Red Whirlwind to ask a favor. What kind of favor? With all of her hope, she silently begged that it would be nothing sinister.

  
"Do be aware that your request may not be welcomed with open arms." she grumbled. "We are not businessmen; therefore, we do not accept every favor asked of us."

  
"Of course, of course." The Rose brought his leg up over the other. "I figured such. You've a good head on those shoulders after all." that compliment almost sounded fake. "A backstory would surely help clear things up. Can you say that you've caught ear of my dear late mother, Lady Portia?"

  
At that moment, her irises shrunk.

  
"Why no, you cannot say I have."

  
"Ah. I see just as I understand. My mother departed from the living when I was young. Assuming we're of similar age, you would have been rather young yourself."

  
Antonio, with a wave of curiosity, looked up from his tea, then eyed the Archduke.

  
"Your late mother?" he echoed. "Did something happen?"

  
Slowly, Romeo gave them a nod.

  
"Indeed." he murmured. "I'm sure you are aware of this, but it was indeed my father who slaughtered the house of Capulet fourteen years ago, and soon after, he took the throne to the house of Montague; my house."

  
"You speak of that as though you've no sympathy to the innocents that were killed that night, Your Majesty." Juliet felt a pinch in the bridge of her nose.

  
"I find no reason to disagree with you Red Whirlwind. I knew those innocents not, I was never in control of my father's actions, nor can I clean the mess he's made. I am simply living with what I have been given." his face became cold. "But my mother saw it a different way. She saw my father's actions as savage, and not even five years into his reign, she took leave from the castle and called him husband no more. It was then she became a nun in the convent on the opposite side of the city. She lived this way for two years more before she was brought to an unfair end by the tip of a blade."

  
The story appeared to evoke a reaction in Antonio.

  
"She was murdered!" he exclaimed as he bolted to his feet. "What a ruthless, soulless, demon! Do you wish for us to track down the beast that brought her to her end? Justice shall always prevail on those who thieve the lives on the innocent!"

  
Juliet shot a glare upon him, where she then cleared her throat to steal his attention. A quick motion commanded him back on the couch. The Archduke appeared to be baffled by the response of the boy, so much to the point where his serious expression was replaced with that of amusement.

  
"Such fire inside you, boy." he commented quickly. "It pains me to say to you that the one who is guilty is already dead."

  
Juliet's eyes widened.

  
"Truly?" she asked. "Then what is your favor? What was the point in telling us your story?"

  
"The man guilty was of the house of Capulet; a survivor out to exact revenge on my house. He may not have been aware that my mother was detached from my family tree. Either way, the death of such a wonderful woman was for naught." his head sank. "And such a lovely woman she was indeed..."

  
"I still see not where your favor lies, Archduke."

  
She watched as he brought his head back up, a grimace on his face.

  
"You see, Red Whirlwind, not all of the Capulet name was exterminated the night my father forcefully resumed the throne; from the mouths of many, I have caught ear that there still lingers kindred of Lord Orsino, the fallen Archduke. It was his youngest child; a daughter. A daughter no elder than two years of age, a daughter who escaped the flames in the arms of Capulet's loyalists atop the backs of steeds. She roams my streets to this day, disguised as a commoner, hiding from my men and me."

  
She bit her lip, her brows furrowed, and her fists suddenly clenched atop her thighs. Briefly, Antonio shot a gaze at her, concern clouding his soft irises.

  
"And your proposal?" she asked, her hands starting to quiver; whatever it was he wanted done, he wanted it done unto her. There was no telling what it was he wanted, but in the end, she knew good and well it wasn't anything that meant no harm.  
In response to her question, The Archduke leaned over, set his elbow of the arm of his chair, then set his jaw atop his fist. His eyes, she swore, became menacing.

  
"I want you to track her down." he said. "And once you have, capture her."

  
"And?" her brows dropped. "We speak of an innocent girl simply trying to remain alive, Archduke; what do you want done unto a girl that hasn't committed a single felony? What do you want done with her once she is captured?"

  
"Bring her to her end."

  
Both of their eyes widened, terror replacing intensity. At that moment, Juliet rose from her seat, her teeth grit, her hands becoming fists.

  
"Absolutely not!" she furiously roared, paying no hesitation. "Taking the life of an innocent is nowhere near the beautiful boundary which is justice! Just what kind of demon has caught hold of your twisted mind and bent reality so maliciously to distort what is wicked to yea?"

  
Despite her rising, her hand placed on the sheath of her blade, The Archduke remained calmly in his seat, his hands laced in his lap. One of those hands held itself up, as if to ask her to halt, before he slowly shut his eyes. There, for what seemed like a while, he remained, breathing peacefully, not saying a word until his eyelids blessed him again with vision.

  
"Perspective." he whispered simply. "Perspective is the reason why man has argued with man for the countless centuries he's existed. Your perspective is different than mine, Red Whirlwind. Perhaps that is due to the manner in which you were raised. Perhaps that is due to an experience of trauma from when you were still a toddler. Perhaps that is due to simply wishing to oppose me. Either way, there is no need to work up a huge fuss over the matter, there is no need to suddenly raise a shield."

  
"I raise not a shield." she growled in return. "I rather shed my sword, prepared to establish what I know is right for it is written by none other than God himself. The innocent shall not be killed, lest her life be ended sooner than when she accomplishes her purpose in life."

  
"As I said, Red Whirlwind. This is a matter of perspective. She is of the House of Capulet; she has Capulet blood running through her veins, Capulet skin covering her body, Capulet locks flowing from her crown, Capulet eyes marveling upon the wonders and disgusts of the world. It was the exact same house, flesh, blood, hair, and eyes which brought my mother to her end, and I will not stand idly by and let such things walk away without punishment."

  
She felt the bridge of her nose wrinkle.

  
"Very well then, I shall play at your 'perspective' game." she said, challenging him. "If your father, the murderer of the majority of the House of Capulet, took your mother as wife, she would be of the House of Montague, regardless of separation or not. Your mother was married to the man who destroyed the royal house. Take your mother's killer into the light; his loved ones are gone, he will not stand idly by and let such things walk away without punishment." her eyes narrowed. "In short, Your Majesty, your logic and your 'perspective' is that of an ignoramus; you essentially say your mother deserved the misfortune she had brought unto her. Her ties with your father were the only evidence needed to convict her as felon."

  
Silence was ushered into the room. Antonio, watching the battle from the side, raised a brow, amused by Juliet's words. Impressed almost. Heck, even a small smirk crept across his face; her argument was, without the slightest of doubt, something The Archduke had not the equipment to oppose besides the abandonment of common sense. Even The Archduke himself appeared to acknowledge that, such as why he smiled.

  
"Clever." he breathed. "Thou art quick, Red Whirlwind. Funny. There has been this person that has recently walked into my life, she argues in such an intelligent and ferocious way just as you."

  
Her heart caught fire; heavens, she's said too much! Was he referring to her? Juliet? Has he caught on to her lie? Has he discovered her secret? Dear heavens, what can she do to lead him away from such an idea?

  
"You dodge the subject like an arrow now, Archduke." she grumbled. "Return in the matter that of a man's and confront me."

  
"It is clear you oppose me." he replied. "What point is there in arguing any further?"

  
"Thy words are marked with hesitation. Perhaps I've struck a nerve? Perhaps I've proved a point you know not how to handle?"

  
"Watch thy mouth."

  
"Wherefore? Have I begun to-"

  
"The more you continue to beat a hornets nest, the more enraged hornets pour out." with a frown, he reached into the cushion of his seat, then quickly brought out a long, stainless blade, his hand clenching onto its hilt. He rose to his feet, meeting with her eye level. "I've been sparing with you through out this conversation, Red Whirlwind. But when you toss at me statements which say that I believe my mother deserved her death..." the bridge of his nose wrinkled. "You are toying with a venomous adder."

  
Alarmed, Antonio stood to his feet, his eyes darting up to Juliet, asking her what to do. She didn't return his gaze, however; she stood staring at the boy before her, boldly delving into the depths of his eyes. She was frightened. She was horrified. She didn't know to draw her sword or not.

  
"Thou... Thou art..."

  
"I present to you two paths, Red Whirlwind. One; you sit, I replace my blade, and we will converse as adults, respecting one another... Or two..." his eyes narrowed. "I shall bare my blade, and we will converse as barbarians."

  
She stood still, her hands quivering, her breathing quick and panicked. She felt her chest constrict more and more with each struggling breath.

  
"You've power, Archduke..." her voice remained strong. "But I shall never bend beneath it should it be exercised criminally. I shall respect you, but I will not sit and apologize for stating my belief. I am entitled to distinguishing right and wrong, and I shall be wise in doing so."

  
The Archduke grew a smirk.

  
"So that is your choice." he whispered, his blade relaxed at his side. "Be it so then..." a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Thou art a fool. Thou art truly a fool." he looked up at them, his pupils shrunk. "So you may have the majority of the people on your side, but remember, it is I who is backed by the law. Do you realize the position in which you stand? I could simply call, and countless men, all armed, could enter this very room and bring both of your to your end with little to no casualties."

  
"That would then make you a liar." she straightened her back. "Of course, you've always been one, but the people know you came to me bowing beneath the pretense of peace; should they discover I was killed by your hand, I guarantee unto you there would be an uproar. Then an uprising. Then a rebellion. The people of your country are very wise, Your Majesty, all of them joined in a single band would devastate you, regardless of how many men you've armed, regardless of how many weapons they've not. Of course you would have never taken the time to discover that yourself, seeing that you do not tend to them as you should."

  
He continued to smile.

  
"So we've both a knife to each other's throats." he commented simply. "Someone has to loosen us up. You've made me very angry, Red Whirlwind, and that was not necessary. It could have easily been avoided. Now, should it be my wish, I could kill you on the spot. At this time. At this very moment." ever so slowly, he set his blade back upon the seat of his chair. "Let me shed mercy upon you..."

  
Juliet felt a chill crawl down her spine upon hearing the purr of his voice.

  
"You speak as though thou art a god."

  
"Here, I am." he replied. "Five minutes. Three hundred seconds. I give you that much time to rid yourself of my castle. But when your time is up..." his hands crossed behind his back. "Every guard here will be out for your head. Can you do that? Perhaps you need more time?"

  
"Nay." she hissed. "I need nothing from you."

  
"Very well then. I shall begin your time. Careful now... Should you decide to steal my life in the process, the law will be after you. There will not be a single day of peace for the rest of your life..." his eyes didn't leave her. Not even for a second. "Hurry now... 1... 2... 3..."

  
Hastily, the girl turned to her partner, then snatched his wrist, drawing her sword in the meantime. They made a quick beeline for the door to his room.

  
"Criminal!" she called to him. "No matter the circumstances, truth and justice shall always prevail! Never will you carry out your mission, whether your barricade be me or God himself!"

  
The double doors burst open, the two of them running out the fastest they could. The guards standing outside of his room, alarmed, watched as the duo rushed down the hall, their weapons born. Concerned, one of them peered inside of the Archduke's room, where he was found sitting back down in his seat, relaxation marked upon his face.

  
"Worry not about them." The Archduke murmured. "Worry not until I say..."

  
Juliet and Antonio ran furiously down the hall of the castle, navigating off the top of their heads, making assumptions based off of where they were led just earlier. Sweat poured down from her crown, her eyes wide with horror. So it was true. The Archduke did have different colors after all. He changed them so quickly and so fluidly, that of a chameleon. She felt the anklet brush against her leg with each step she took. The more she lingered upon it as she ran, the more she wanted to halt and tear it off of her. The more she wanted to return to his room, rip of her mask and wig, then present to him who she truly was. To announce her name as Capulet.

  
But no such thing occurred. Antonio wouldn't dare let her anyhow. They found themselves dashing through the foyer, bursting out of the front doors, granting themselves exit. She thought they had made it in the nick of time. She thought they were safe... But as soon as sunlight hit their face, as soon as her eyes lay upon the golden hue of sunset, she also saw a sight which stole her breath like a thief in the night.

  
Men stood lined up along the tops of the castle walls, each baring a loaded bow, each aimed directly at the two of them. Antonio, by instinct, grabbed her forearm, then gave it a fearfully tight squeeze.

  
"O-Odin!" he gasped.

  
She couldn't bring herself to say anything in response. She only gazed at the archers, each gazing down at them, fury in their eyes. They were so close. They were so close to the gate which would grant them freedom. It stood no more than several feet away from them.

  
A man, Cerimon, the captain of the Carabinieri, walked into the middle of the wall, a smirk fixed upon his face. He held his hand up, signaling to the archers.

  
"You were close." he commented. "But lacking in speed..."

  
The two cringed, fearfully embracing one another, preparing themselves for their demise. But after what seemed like forever, their demise did not come. Perhaps death truly was harmless. Perhaps it was just like waking up from a dream.

  
No... They were not dead.

  
Juliet opened her eyes ever so slowly, horror written on her face. She gazed at the men lining the castle walls. Their arrows were drawn back... But their aim had fallen. Each and everyone one of them stared back at her; or, rather, what stood behind her. She dared to peer over her shoulder with a quick gasp. He was there. Standing with his hand up, waving to the sky, his face relaxed, the other hand resting behind his back.

  
Romeo was there. He stood there with so much confidence on his face. Confidence as he strode over to them, taking his sweet time, leading himself before the duo, standing in the line of fire. A smile, slowly, spread across his lips as he turned around to eye them.

  
"Red Whirlwind." he said, his voice smooth all of a sudden. "My heart breaks to inform you, but the time I bestowed unto you both has run dry."

  
She grit her teeth as Antonio, terrified, brought up his head.

  
"You've no respect; toying with your enemy prior to his death."

  
His face failed to change.

  
"No respect." he echoed blandly.

  
Thoughts began to run through her mind; thoughts of her loved ones. Her friends. Her family. Curio. Francisco. Conrad. Emilia. Cordelia. Willy... She gave them up. For what? A silly trick she failed to see through. Had her feelings truly gotten the best of her? Had they blinded her, preventing her from seeing such a dreadfully obvious scheme? She was a fool. A fool and nothing but. A fool that thought she had the world, the patterns of men so figured out.

  
Conrad was right; her luck, just as her time, did finally run out.

  
Or did it...

  
"If I've no respect, I suppose I should move. I should open the line of fire, sending exactly one hundred and fifty two arrows into your chest; or perhaps I am respectful of the dear thing called life. Look here, Red Whirlwind; look me in the eye." she dared to allow her gaze to wander up to him. "I recall you telling me you do not need anything from me. You do not need my mercy. You do not need my grace. You do not need my time. Tell me, would you care to retract such a claim in exchange for a few seconds more?"

  
Her pupils shrunk; could it be...?

  
...Could it be that he was shedding mercy upon them?

  
She felt herself tense even more, her teeth grinding against her teeth, a crude grip on the ankle of Antonio's arm. Her heart, beating so quickly, drummed on, momentarily distracting her, her breathing quick, the back of her throat ice cold. She couldn't swallow her saliva even if she wanted to. But even as she trembled, she stood tall, her open hand smoothing over her long brimmed hat.

  
"I possess the knowledge of the reason why you do such a thing for me."

  
He raised a brow.

  
"Oh? Enlighten me then."

  
"You do so so that you may establish your dominance. I know the way some men play; I once played such a way myself." she eyed up to him. "I recognize your authority, Your Majesty. There is no need to-"

  
"Nay, nay, oh so confident Red Whirlwind." the boy chuckled. "That has absolutely nothing to do with this."

  
"Liar. Tell me what is true."

  
"Oh, but I am." ever so slowly, he started to approach the two of them, coming uncomfortably close. Close enough to to where the hair on the back of her neck stood en pointe. She was tempted, so tempted, to back away as he drew closer. And closer. And closer. He gazed her in the eye. "You simply bring a certain someone to mind, you see..." a smile spread across his lips. "A woman of all things too. Quite humorous, wouldn't you agree?"

  
She felt her shoulders raise, tense, her pupils shrinking.

  
"Hilarious." she replied stiffly.

  
"Would you are to hear her name? Perhaps you may know her."

  
"Nay."

  
"Her name, Red Whirlwind, is Juliet."

 


	13. Hidden Desires

The very second she shut the door behind her, she threw herself onto her bed. Her face, red as a cherry, bore an expression. An expression she could not exactly define. A mixture between worry and anger. Betrayal. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, rushing around like a busy marketplace. Her eyes stayed wide.

  
They narrowly escaped. They narrowly escaped the hands of the Archduke. All because of what? Because he shed mercy upon them. Acting as though he were some sort of all powerful, omniscient god.

  
But what was there for her to do in opposition? What was there for her to be so uptight about? She was alive and well. Antonio was alive and well. Everyone, everything was painted all jolly and peppy. Bright shining rainbows. Blue skies. Humoresques of beaks. Full bellies. Unscathed flesh. She should be rejoicing to her dear and merciful God... And yet, the storm raged on. A storm of shame and regret. A horrendous typhoon whose skies were blacker then black.

  
The longer she lingered upon him, the more the tips of her fingers glided down her right thigh. When she thought of his cold green eyes, they had worked their way down to her knees. When the sight of his mighty sword replayed inside her head, they tickled her calf. She had pondered over him long enough to where those finger tips suddenly transformed into ferocious switchblades; they furiously snatched the anklet residing at the wrist of her foot, then angrily began to tug at it, wrestling around as though she were a caged animal.

  
She worked the clasp to free herself, then released a growl as she hurled it across her room. The anklet smacked itself against the wall with a metallic cling before it finally landed on the ground at the very edge of the floor. There it rested as she rested, her gaze refusing to leave what she had convinced herself to be a cursed talisman. Tears threatened to build inside her eyes, effortlessly streaming down her cheeks. It damped her face, making it clammy, so clammy to the point where she didn't bother wiping them away any longer. Instead, they were granted free range will all the freedom they could possibly want.  
But then, suddenly, there came a knock on the door. She sucked a gasp in before throwing herself off the bed, where she rushed to snatch the anklet from the floor. Her lips parted as she hurried to stuff the piece into the drawer of her glossy wooden dresser.

  
"W-Who at my door stands?" she inquired aloud. She couldn't help but wonder, especially when the moon had already risen, commanding those still with eyes open to fall into slumber; no fool except herself would be awake at this hour, not even...  
"It is I; Antonio." came a voice from the opposite side of the postern. "Might I have entrance?"

  
Panicked, she scrambled to take a nearby handkerchief that had been laying for an unknown amount of time on her nightstand. She brought it to her face, fluidly rubbing it on her cheeks and on the crown of her eye, banishing the clamminess.

  
"Ay, Antonio, but please, just a moment."

  
"Make haste please, Juliet, lest my grandfather will rouse and discover me departed from my room."

  
She hurried up, trying to make sure she wiped away each and every tear from her face, only for a new problem to come about; her eyes remained puffy and red, swelling, just as cherries in the midst of spring. She buried her head in the palms of her hands, then heaved a great and heavy sigh, her shoulders relaxing, her fingers trembling less and less.

  
"Be is so, now, Antonio. I grant thee entrance."

  
There came a gentle jingle from the door knob just before there came a steady creak as it swung around its hinges; from there, the boy's head peeped in, concern all over his sweet face.

  
"Good night, Juliet." he walked in slowly, shutting the postern quietly behind him. "Would you mind me talking with you? I saw that you, just as myself, had yet to fall into the realm of sleep... A curious question came to mind."

  
She took a seat back on her bed.

  
"Ay; please, ask your question."

  
Antonio hopped on the mattress to sit next to her, gazing at her face, an expression of uncertainty welling up inside his eyes.   
"I must ask thee... Hours ago, when we were before the Archduke... When he recalled the name of a person you reminded him of, and her name happened to be Juliet..." he leaned in closer. "Was he... Was he speaking of the same Juliet we know so well? Yourself? Or was it a mere coincidence?"

  
She felt her eyes dull, the spark in her gaze disappearing. Ever so slowly, she turned her head away, daring to peer out the small window which allowed so little moonlight entrance to her room. It spilled in one concentrated beam, one which ran along the floor, then filled the space between them. Her hands began to quiver again, her teeth running along her soft lips.

  
"Please Antonio." she whimpered. "Ask a question which is not like this one. I wish not to answer."

  
"B-But Juliet!" Antonio whispered intensely. "I am worried. Please; I promise I shall not tell a soul... How... How does the Archduke know of thee? Have you... Have you been meeting him? Is that where you have been going to stay until strange hours of the night? The place to which you insist so strongly to go alone?"

  
Her lips, just for the moment, remained sealed.

  
"I will not lie to you." she murmured softly. "The night I accompanied Emilia to the Rose Ball, I there encountered the Archduke in the courtyard as I sat alone at the base of a fountain, gazing at an iris bloom which I had come across. We spoke for a while."

  
"And?" the boy's eyes widened. "What else?"

  
"...He invited me to the dance floor. I felt as though I was obligated to agree. But I learned so much about him, more than what your grandfather or Curio or Francisco Or Willy or Cordelia could ever relay unto my ears... One night of conversation with him evoked my pity unto him. There was a certain air about him, Antonio, I am quite sure you felt it earlier today as he spoke to you before drinking your tea. He seemed sad. Like a land soaked in water, yet engulfed in flames."

  
Antonio's brows dropped, a frown printed on his face.

  
"Juliet." he scoffed. "Please, don't tell me you... Don't tell me you gaze into his angry eyes with admiration. That you find love in those words laced with malice. That you find truth in every lie which his tongue so expertly crafts. That you... That you find him, and his body that has beaten so many, amatory. That you've found yourself deeply infatuated..."

  
"I am ashamed." she retorted. "To admit that I was starting to be blinded by petty feelings such as those. I thought he was opening himself to me, but after today, after talking to him, seeing who he truly is, I now realize he was simply putting on a show all along. I was a fool, Antonio; I am not too proud to prevent myself from admitting that to you... Even if I am your senior in age."

  
Antonio, with a sigh, allowed his shoulders to sink, his eyes shutting loosely, his head rolling back in relief.

  
"Thank goodness." he breathed. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Juliet. I'm joyous to see that thou hast came to thine senses." he carefully leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "What now? Perhaps we should find this closeness The Archduke has towards you as a blessing; look, we've him in the perfect spot for an ambush. Would it be wise to plan an attack?"

  
Juliet, mildly alarmed, turned to him.

  
"An attack?" she echoed.

  
"Ay. So then we can bring the Rose to his end right then and there. Here is what I had in mind..."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was standing in his room again. A mask concealing the upper half of her face, the long brimmed hat covering her head, which hid beneath a wig, a blade at her hip. Standing at the side of a plush sofa, light green. It reminded her of mildew, the color of that couch. Everything around her made her feel uneasy. Like a cat, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her shoulders knotted up. She wouldn't dare turn her gaze away from him, lest she knew she would be attacked.

  
The Archduke stood before her, his back turned, gazing out the window which gave a lovely view of the city. His blade was born, the hilt in his hand, the tip of the blade brushing against the floor; that gave her all the reason to keep her hand on the handle of her own, ready to draw should it ever be her need.

  
"You boast of being a swordsman, am I correct, Red Whirlwind?" he asked softly, his back still turned to her.

  
She tensed

  
"Ay." she retorted swiftly. "What's it to you for inquiring?"

  
"A simple wonder." he replied. "I may be interested in challenging thee to a fair duel. Just the two of us gentlemen fighting like gentlemen."

  
"I've no interest."

  
"Oh, yes you do." he chuckled. "In fact, I will spice the match up. We duel. If I am to lose to your greatness, you shall win my kingdom. Come now, I will give you the opening swing."

  
"Like I said!" she growled with her teeth ground. "I do not accept of your offer!"

  
At that moment, however, without warning, he turned around, his sword held up warning, and he rushed towards her, a frown on his face. She gasped, then quickly drew her weapon, prepared to block an oncoming attack. And, like clockwork, it came crashing down; steel on steel, a spark taking flight and thriving off of their clash. There, with their blades pressed against one another, amidst the struggle, they stared one another down. His eyes, those green eyes... They were just as bright as day, with that little glint inside of them. They looked into hers. They were warm and brown, excited for justice.

  
"Come now, Red Whirlwind." he probed. "Fight me. Hold back not. Win my kingdom. Let Justice prevail."

  
He lifted his sword and dared to attack again, only for her to block it. He pushed onto her, backing her up with each and every violent swing she's yet to fail to block. The clinging. The metallic cling; it pained her ears; she feared crimson would trickle from them, then run down her face, decorating it just as her mask. She came back at him with a mighty slash, the strongest she could muster, but, just as herself, his blade would not let it touch his spotless flesh.

  
"You are weaker than I anticipated. Are you holding yourself back?"

  
"Quiet, villain."

  
She witnessed a smile spread across his lips; a sinister smile. He pushed her off of himself, then pressed onto her again. Pressuring her. Taking all control. Commanding her actions by limiting her space. She found her teeth grinding against one another, sweat spilling from her crown, her hands trembling as they held the blade; oh, how tempted she was to wail, then begin to weep. But she couldn't, for she had to fight. She had to win. She just had to.

  
But the Archduke wouldn't let her; with one, one well devised, and powerful, sweep, he twisted the hilt from both of her hands, disarming her just as she had before the Carabinieri one by one the day the butcher was to be beheaded. Her blade flew. It flew across the room, far from her reach of recovery. It landed meters away, scratching the once flawless tile floor with its metallic shriek.

  
She couldn't breath. She struggled. Struggled to get from one breath to the other, her hands whimpering at her sides, her chest rising, yet failing to fall. A look of satisfaction appeared on her opponent's face. His eyes narrowed slyly. His smile broadened. And, ever so slowly, with his sword held high and threatening, he approached her. Quietly. Backing her away. Further. And further. And further. And further.

  
Her back lightly tapped against the wall; she'd run out of room. No where to run. No place to look but before her. He was getting closer, his blade up. He was going to strike. Any second now. She wanted to shut her eyes. She didn't want to look. She couldn't. Yet she had to. So her eyes remained wide, wide and open.

  
The broad side of his blade placed itself against her chest; its pressure grew harder with each step her took. Each step he took closer to her. And closer. And soon, it was where she couldn't breathe again, her jaw quivering, paralyzed by fear. His eyes wouldn't leave her, they wouldn't let her leave, nor let her mind journey somewhere simpler, somewhere more comforting. He took his time. As if he was soaking the fear in.

  
Lavishing it.

  
He smiled.

  
"My, Red Whirlwind." he whispered. "I expected so much more from the one who personifies Justice..." he pressed against her, his sword being to only thing which kept him from being completely on top of her. He was warm. And every heartbeat, she could feel it. She felt him breathe. She felt him ease his face closer, soon his hand, as it reached up to her hat. He pulled it off of her head, where he tossed it to the side along with the blade of her own. "But that's quite all right..." his fingers buried themselves in the locks of her wig. It was ripped off, allowing her long hair to come cascading down her back just before it was shoved hardly against the wall. The last thing to go was her mask. He smiled at the sight of her horrified face. "You lose all sense when you're around me, don't you, Juliet?"

  
His lips came crashing into her own, violating it with both force and passion. Her eyes widened quickly, her heart pounding, her legs threatening to give way. But he wouldn't let that. His blade fell to the ground, both of his mighty arms tightly wrapped themselves around her slender torso. He embraced her as though he had convinced himself she would disappear if he had not. It, at first, terrified her. But... The longer she remained, the longer her motionlessness continued, the heavier her eye lids grew, and the less of a will she had to leave them up. The more her lips eased open. The more she allowed him in. The softer his once tight embrace was, the softer his once violent lock became.

  
She'd lost her breath by the time he parted from her, a flush painting his cheeks. He smiled at her sweetly, the sparkle in his eyes suddenly mellow and soft. They were bright and wet, moisture gathering at the brim of his eyes lids as he planted a gentle peck on the border of her jaw. When he returned to gaze at her, that moisture had rivered down his cheeks, gentle and happily. Those once cold and steely green eyes were no longer hard, love in his long dead pupils. He ran the fingers of one of his hands through her hair, a tangled mat ruined by the forces of conflict; even so, his face told her he lavished it, breathing a sigh of satisfaction.

  
"Oh my Juliet, mine to hold..." he returned for another round of endearment. He released. "My affections cannot be expressed by any act of sacrifice, for they would do them not a lick of Justice."

  
Warmth pooled in her stomach when tears began to trail down her face as well.

  
"I... I see..." she whispered, her lips quivering.

  
He kissed them again.

  
"I am pleased to bring you sweet dreams then, my love." his nose nudged the side of her face. "Come now. Awaken. It is time to start your day. Come slay me."

  
And then, she awoke.


	14. The Abduction

Today was the day. The day the history of the country would be changed, the day a revolution would come about and bless it. Today was the day, Juliet was sure, that the Archduke, by the hands of she and Antonio, would be brought to an end. Well, where all respect is due, Juliet had to give most of the credit to Antonio, who just so happened to be the brilliant mind able to conceive the idea in the first place. She was confident, yet nervous.

  
One faulty mistake just might lead to a foul end. Not for the Archduke, but perhaps one of them.

  
She awoke from an odd dream, a dream that left her feeling even more tired than before. One that made her feel warm on the inside. One that took away her ability to speak for the few minutes she lay awake in her bed, gazing out the small window at her side. And then, when she brought herself up, she parted her lips to allow a sigh to flee.

  
When she spied upon a drawer inside her dresser, though, her eyes grew wide, her drowsiness fading. There, deep inside the depths of the drawer, beneath many articles of clothing folded so neatly, there hid an anklet adorned with a charm of an iris. She wondered if it would be appropriate to wear such a thing to such an event like bringing the Archduke to his end... Yes. Quite fitting, actually, for it was he that gifted the piece unto her, acting so light hearted and happy. He has shown his colors of ugly gray and black. She has payed eyes upon them. She shall wear the anklet as a mockery, a mockery as she will kneel beside his dying body, then whisper into his ear her house.

  
"Dear me." she whispered to herself, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Such dark thoughts I never knew I'd the ability to conceive..."

  
Cordelia was suspicious the moment she caught eye of the two wandering passed the kitchen, aiming for the secret door which would grant them exit. She turned around over a pot of lunch, narrowed her eyes, then cleared her throat. Just as Juliet feared, Cordelia, like a security guard of the Carabinieri, would spot them, then call them out, requesting to know where it was they were off to. There wasn't that much to she and Antonio that was out of the usual... Juliet was just wearing a pleasant sundress, Antonio in his casual outdoorsy clothes, their hair combed neatly, their teeth brushed... Oh, yes, and Antonio happened to be carrying Francisco's crossbow and quiver, which was filled with arrows.

  
The three silently exchanged glances for a while, listening to the pot as it bubbled, Cordelia's suspicion growing more and more evident with each passing second. And, finally she acted upon it.

  
"And just where are you two off to?" she inquired. "Juliet? You're wig? To where has it disappeared?"

  
"W-Worry not, Cordelia." Juliet grinned awkwardly. "Antonio and I are simply going out to the field for target practice."

  
"When it's almost lunch time." the woman added in disbelief, completely unconvinced. "Relieve me of your tricks and tell me the truth."

  
Antonio jumped forth.

  
"B-But Miss Cordelia!" he exclaimed. "For what reason would we ever lie to thee? A session of practice's all!" he stepped closer. "Juliet and I are in need to hone our marksman skills, that way, when the prices in the market inflate, we shall still have food to eat and keep our hunger pangs at bay."

  
"Curio and Francisco are already capable hunters on their own." she argued. "Try again."

  
Antonio paused, the color leaving his skin. Excuses, excuses, they were so difficult to create.

  
"Why not have more than just two?" Juliet inquired. "After all, it takes much to feed the seven of us here in the theatre. Curio and Francisco are brilliant marksmen, with all due respect, but very quickly will they become exhausted with our constant demand for nutrition; besides, where is the wrong in a little enthusiasm for archery?"

  
The pot continued to boil. Finally, Cordelia sighed, then turned back to lunch, where she tended to it with a spoon.

  
"Very well then." she breathed. "Do not dull down those arrows lest they will become useless. Be back in an hour for lunch unless you prefer your soup cold."

  
"Yes, Cordelia!"

"Yes, Miss Cordelia!"

  
And then, without even a second to spare, the two were rushing down the stairs, pushing open the secret door, then dashing to the front of the theater. There, in the lobby, however, there came a voice calling out to them.

  
"Ho ho, and just where are you two off to?" Willy came into the scene, approaching them slowly with a smile. But, the second he drew near enough, he froze, studying their blushing faces. "And my, Odin, quite a questionable set of attire you're sporting..."

  
"We have not the time to talk, Willy!" Juliet rushed away.

  
Antonio, late to jump onto the boat of what was happening, dashed after her.

  
"Y-Yes, Willy, with all due respect we've not the time! Fair thee well! We shall return by lunch!" he followed soon after, hot on the girl's ankles. Willy stood there silently, a look of bafflement smothered onto his face, his arms loosely crossed, a brow raised ever so slightly. He shrugged to himself, then turned around.

  
"Children these days. I swear, they must be losing their dear innocent minds." he walked away, a finger on his chin. "Now how can I incorporate such into one of my plays..."

  
Juliet and Antonio rushed through the narrow streets of the city, their faces tense, yet filled to the brim with interest. While many sat oblivious in their homes, much including their family, they were off to change things forever; for the good, it should be added. To kill the Archduke.

  
They rushed by the market crowded with commoners, the baker toiling at his oven, the blacksmith away with his hammer, the taylor laboring over his loom. Not once did they stop to sightsee, for they were well aware of the fact that they were on a mission; an important one. The tips of their toes continued to click against the stone streets, their arms clinging to their bodies as they hurried.

  
"Od- I mean- Juliet!" Antonio called once turning the corner of a tall town house along with her. "To where are we to travel again? Art thou confident that it was today at this time the Archduke said to meet thee?"

  
"Ay, Antonio." she retorted briskly. "In the truth of the matter, we are running late all thanks to our concerned housemates; worry not, he will not abandon our spot, even when I am tardy. Even so, it is crucial we make haste."

  
Antonio turned his face forth.

  
"Indeed." he agreed. "Let us make haste."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Archduke sat quietly, his eyes gazing blankly out to study the lovely drawing carved at the alter. He'd come to know this illustration quite well, for it was what he had to gaze upon for such a long while. Often, he came early to the old church, then seat himself in their usual pew. He had things he needed to be doing, Archduke things, Archduke matters that needed tending to. Yet even so, he dropped those responsibilities like a hot potato, all so that he could sit quietly, so that he could bare witness to Juliet as she came slowly up the steps. So that he may be the one to greet her so happily.

  
And, soon, after a minute or two after the time she promised him, her long hair became visible as she scaled up the steps, a smile on her face, her eyes bright. It rubbed off on him as he rose from the pew.

  
"Salutations." he went to meet her, then bestowed upon her a bouquet of irises with a smile. "I trust you made your way here without any mishaps?"

  
She grinned.

  
"Yes, you may trust." she replied sweetly, then eyed the bouquet. "Be these for me?"

  
"Yea, they are fresh now, having not suffered from my wrath." he gestured to the pew. "Come, have a seat. Shall we converse? Or simply admire the lovely day?"

  
"Both." she took a whiff of the irises with delight. "Let us do both."

  
However, unbeknownst to the Archduke, who figured they were alone together, there, several meters away, lay Antonio on his belly atop the rocky ground, his crossbow in position, hiding behind a fallen pillar. He watched the two, paying ear to the conversations, watching as they made their way to the pew. To say the very least, he was surprised, seeing the way in which the Archduke behaved; a different person entirely, one whose hostility melted away like ice on a hot, hot day. The Master of Deception, he figured; he was not called that for any petty reason.

  
"Has your week treated you kindly?" the boy asked, gazing at her as they sat. One thing about her was odd, like an elephant in the room neither of them bothered to mention, nor acknowledge; Juliet sat relatively further from him, creating a gap where there used to be no space at all. Surprisingly, this almost appeared to disappoint the Archduke.

  
It was room for Antonio to take aim.

  
"Rather; I spent nearly all of yesterday helping one of my housemates cook supper. It was quite delicious, however, so the fruits of our labors were sweet with worth."

  
"Truly?" he eased closer to her. "And you are of a noble house? You cook your own supper?"

  
A blush spread across her face.

  
"D-Dear me, I must have forgotten to mention; on Sundays, in honor of the sabbath, our servants are to take breaks, that way they may rest and regain their strength."

  
He eyed her strangely.

  
"The sabbath." he echoed. "Interesting. Perhaps I shall mimic thee and see what kind of results are produced." he smiled.

"Thank you, Juliet, for your advice."

  
Antonio, who remained at his distance, rolled his eyes.

  
"Dear God." he scoffed. "Two lovers, exchanging goo-goo eyes in a manner of children. A joke it must be. Surely this is a joke."

  
"Say, Juliet..." he heard the Archduke murmur. "Tell me, for I am curious; of what house art thou from? I have never been told."

  
At that very instant, Antonio's eyes widened, a quiet gasp robbed his breath. Now was the time, he was sure, for he had the Archduke in a still position, his back turned to him. One arrow through the neck was all it would take. The end was right within his grasp.

  
Quietly, never daring to let even himself hear, the boy's free hand eased to the quiver atop his back, then silently removed a single arrow from it. Being relatively handy with a crossbow, he knew just what to do, swiftly and silently. This was the arrow, he knew with pride, that would be the arrow to change Neo Verona forever. He placed the prize's butt into the string, where he carefully drew back, listening as Juliet tried so very hard to create an excuse, to craft a lie to throw onto the table. She lingered as if she was just waiting for him to fire.

  
The arrow was drawn all the way back, locking, as proven by a subtle click.

  
The click.

  
That all so gentle click.

  
The Archduke caught ear of it.

  
His eyes widened just as Juliet delivered a fake answer timidly, a nervous smile spread across her lips.

  
"I am of the house of Crespo." she lied. "Somewhat minor among the aristocrats, but we've plenty of financial stability, mind you."

  
His response was delayed by a cautious look about.

  
"Quite interesting..." he murmured absently. "But I don't recall the Crespo house having born a daughter. I only recall sons. Perhaps I am thinking of the wrong house, one with an identical title..."

  
She froze.

  
"Y-Yea; perhaps." she managed to utter. Then, her eyes met with his face; it was stiff all of a sudden, worried, constantly surveying the area. As if he could sense some sort of danger. Upon seeing the sight, Juliet grew worried. She couldn't decide what is was she worried about. Was she worried because she was well aware that the boy she'd come to know so well was minutes away from death? Or was it because she was worried something would go wrong, prolonging his union with death? She knew not, almost did not want to.

  
"Your Majesty?" she leaned forward to get a better look at his face. "Be there something a amiss?"

  
He did not reply.

  
Antonio, from his distance, having taken aim right behind the Archduke's neck, fired the cursed shot.   
And at that moment, the Archduke rushed forth, grabbing Juliet and shoving her down onto the pew, laying over her shocked body. The arrow then came to hit the drawing etched into stone, striking the very center figure's forehead. Without even a second to spare, the man gathered her into his arms, holding her as a new bride, then took off, dashing away by the path he had taken to arrive.

  
Antonio gasped, then rushed to his feet.

  
"W-What force of the devil..." his awestruck words fell into an abyss, where they could not be retrieved. "He heard the arrow before I even fired!" quickly, he snatched the crossbow, then hurried after them, drawing another arrow as he ran, calling her name: "J-Juliet!"

  
The two were already too far to even hear the boy's call, for they hadn't slowed, not even once. She sat there in his arms, alarmed, clinging onto his neck and watching as all the buildings passed them by, many confused commoners watching the scene with shock. He held onto her tightly, the tips of his toes tapping against the cobblestone ground, his breath quickening.  
"Y-Your Majesty?" she uttered, horrified. "What... What is happening?"

  
The question she really wanted to ask would be asking how it was the arrow had not struck him.

  
"An ambush!" he exclaimed, breathing stiffly, almost out of breath completely. "You should already know; my people despise me. A hitman. A hitman is what it is; a skilled sniper out to bring me to my end." his hold on her tightened. "And then you, seeing that thou art a woman closely associated with me. Perhaps worse." it tightened more. "Worry not, Juliet; never would I let any harm come unto thee upon my behalf."

  
Surprisingly, there was quite an amount of comfort in those words.

  
However, that did not stop her from allowing her eyes to widen, her heart to beat with panic. Antonio... He did not miss. The Archduke was just too sharp, too aware, too proactive. There was nothing she could do but lay in his arms, for she could not struggle free; that would puzzle the man, then evoke suspicion. Hope was her only option, hope that perhaps Antonio would catch up with them, then shoot the Archduke down.

  
Such was not looking likely, though, for they were too far ahead.

 


	15. The Devil's Cauldron

The sun had prepared to set, painting the sky above the great city orange. Beasts of the field had gone to lay themselves down, birds of the air had gone to nest, people of the country had gone to their homes prepared for rest. Much including Antonio, who walked slowly along the streets of Neo Verona, the soles of his feet scraping slowly along the cobblestone of the commoner's quarters. The crossbow, not his, but Francisco's, dragged along the ground, the quiver on his back short of an arrow, which, off someplace else, on the ground of an abandoned church, it lay.

  
His head hung low, lower than normal, his eyes wide with fear, wide with horror. He passed by the canal, his face refusing to lift. He passed by the butcher closing shop. By the taylor retiring his loom. By the baker taking his bread to the back. All those people, all with so many lives. They were so easy. They probably weren't as stressed as Antonio; none could possibly be more stressed than Antonio. Had they just lost the final member of the Capulet bloodline to their archenemy? No. They did not. Had they just lost their best friend? Likely not. Did they have a family full of loyalists back at home waiting on him with their arms crossed and their mouths ready to ask questions? No. Did they have to explain what happened? Nothing seemed worse than the deed which was such.

  
When he arrived at the theatre, once pushing the wide double doors open, he found Willy in the lobby, sitting at a table off to the side of the room, engrossing himself in a book. At the sound of the door opening, he quickly looked up from the novel, then smiled.

  
"Tally-ho, Antonio boy." he greeted, rising to his feet once puppy dog earing a page and shutting the book. "To where has Odin strayed? Off in town finishing some chores?" a finger went to his chin. "Nay, that wouldn't be quite right, you would surely stay along side him and come home when he decides to come home. Say, what happened to lunch? You are awfully late for lunch young man. The last I checked, lunch does not come when the sun sets."

  
At that moment, when he halted his speech, Willy realized that Antonio had disappeared, ignoring him as he walked over to the hall, where he pried open the secret door in the wall. Puzzled, the man watched as he walked inside, his head dipped in shame, his pace slow and filled with dread. The door shut behind him ever so softly, becoming the wall again with a subtle click. Having seen all of this, Willy raised a brow, a few fingers tapping his thigh.

  
"Odd behavior, boy." he commented to nobody but himself. "Such doesn't settle right with me... Something is surely amiss."   
The moment Antonio turned around the corner of the dining room, he found exactly what he expected to find; all of them standing there, their faces concerned and angry. Conrad, his grandfather. Curio. Francisco. Cordelia. All sitting at the table, no food before them, their eyes all on him.

  
"Antonio." Conrad uttered. "Staying out so late." he rose from his seat, furious. "You should know better! And for heaven's sake; for what reason do you carry Francisco's bow as if it were yours?"

  
Antonio's head did not rise.

  
"Grandfather." he murmured. "Forgive me."

  
Francisco, slightly less forceful in his voice, looked up, gazing at the boy sincerely.

  
"And Juliet?" he inquired. "Wherefore does she not accompany you in returning? To where has she gone?"

  
And, at that very moment, the crossbow fell limply from the boy's hand; it hit the wooden floor, just as his knees. She broke out into a fit of sobs, his hands shielding his face, his nails digging into his scalp. He shook his head furiously, as if trying to run away, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare.

  
"Oh, forgive me, forgive me!" he shouted. "Had my brain not been such an ignoramus, had it not been a mule, oh, she would be before us tonight!"

  
Every seat was pushed back, each body rising.

  
"What?" Curio exclaimed furiously. "What the devil has happened?"

  
Amongst his sobs, Antonio grit his teeth.

  
"The Archduke." he wept. "She is within the walls of the Archduke."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And within the walls of the Archduke indeed. He did not stop the entire way there, his feet pounding, his breath heaving in and out, his grip on her thigh and shoulders desperately tight. She clung to him fearfully the whole time, almost as if she had been convinced that they were being chased by assassins out to claim both of their lives. No, she had to remind her herself, there was nothing to fear... Nothing to fear besides the owner of the arms which carried her. Anxiety welled up inside her.

  
"Oh Antonio!" she cried to herself. "To where hath thou gone? Are we already too close to the castles where the Carabinieri would fire you down before you could even take aim upon the Rose?"

  
Before she knew it, though, they were within the walls of the mighty castle of Nero Verona, safely behind the great metal gate guarded by the countless amount of archers standing atop the barrier. The boy slowed, his breathing heavy, his arms quivering, sweat drenching his face. Many soldiers, once guarding the powerful door to the bastion, rushed forth to him, their spears born, ready for attack.

  
"Your Majesty!" one called. "What force has brought such an urgent face upon thee?"

  
Gently, Romeo set her feet back onto the ground. For the sake of her act, she stood near him, though careful not to dare let her body brush any part of his.

  
"Snipers. Cowards that refuse to come out and face me." he scoffed. "They wouldn't dare be foolish enough to come near this place. Get us inside. One of you, send for maids to prepare a room for my dear guest..." their eyes met. "Neither of us will be departing from here anytime soon, lest we run the risk of being attacked again."

  
Oh. To be inside the very pits of hell; this must have been how it felt. To be surrounded by the enemy, sitting in one of his chambers, abandoned, alone. All that occurred was that the only familiar face, the Archduke's, had left her, leaving her with a gang of maids to take care of her. They had led her to a room, a room just a ways down from the door she was sure she recalled that led to the room he called his own. It was fine; a tall ceiling towering over her, beautiful, priceless furniture, a bed being freshly made by silk sheets, a lovely green-blue hue all along the walls. Why, it almost looked just like the Archduke's chamber, only a pinch smaller.

  
It was the second best room, she was sure. The second best room he promised her the time they met, the room in which he invited her to stay the night. It was a room to die for, a giant beast in comparison to her room back at the theatre. Stone walls no more. A small, face sized, window no more. Aging furniture no more. Little elbow space no more. While in the midst of her horror, she felt comfort and lavish in this room.

  
The maids had finished just moments after they arrived, the bed made all neatly and precise. The whole lot of them approached her, bowed, then looked her in the eye.

  
"My lady." one said. "H-Has your chambers reached your favor? Perhaps a chair is out of place? A pillow on its wrong side?"   
Surprised, she looked around.

  
"Why, not at all..." she whispered nervously. "In fact... It's quite perfect. My gratitude, ladies."

  
She was alarmed by the faces that spread across the women's faces. Nobility, Juliet figured, must have not been modest with their power, for the maids, who figured her to be of a noble house, looked at her so strangely, almost happily.

  
"Bless you then, my lady." they finished with another bow before exiting. With the closing of the door, Juliet stood quietly, alone, gazing around the room. She blinked, dared to seat herself down on a plush armchair in the corner, then gazed at the walls. Her hands began to quiver.

  
What a place; a place in which she was trapped. She was trapped here. How she wished the Archduke would come, that way, when he did, she would plea her leave. He housemates would surely be worried sick; Conrad would beat Antonio into the following year for losing her, Cordelia would weep each night, Curio would rage, Francisco would become quiet, Willy may lose his willingness to write being short of an actor. Oh, an actor... Juliet would always have a place in Willy's plays; she, being disguised as a boy named Odin, would always have the role as the tough as nails, yet gentle, hero out to save his damsel. She was always portrayed as so strong and brave. Yet now, she felt small, small and helpless.

  
The door opened, bringing her head up with surprise. In the doorway, slowly slipping inside the room, was none other than the Archduke, his gaze traveling all the way to the opposite side of the room, right where she sat. Quickly, she brought herself to her feet.

  
"Y-Your Majesty..." she murmured, attempting to greet him. In response, he nodded to her, shut the door behind him, then approached her, meeting her halfway into the room. He stared at her coldly, frowning, his brows furrowing. Almost immediately, her body trembled even more. Ever so gently, the boy took her hands, whose shaking she fought to halt, then gave them a quick squeeze, rubbing his thumbs over the roof of her palm.

  
"Oh, Juliet..." he whispered sadly. "Forgive me. On my behalf today, you were on the brink of being murdered. Thou art so innocent. Thou deserve not to be slain by no blade, nor arrow, nor mace, nor bludgeon, nor hammer..." slowly, the act which was simply holding her hands turned into a embrace, a tight one that sent warmth all around her. "Those attackers shall not hurt you in the sanctuary which is here. "

  
She stood in the midst of his embrace, her cheeks gently pressed against his neck, her arms limply at her side.

  
"B-But Your Majesty..." she whispered. "My housemates. They had no idea I sent out to meet thee. They shall surely worry their hairs gray. They shall spend many a night restless, tossing and turning, longing for my return. I must. I must go back home."

  
"Ay, ay, such I've already taken into account." he replied softly. "But going back home cannot be an option anymore. There are men lurking the city now, knowing you've ties with me. They would then be men that are wolves dressed in the clothing of sheep. They will stalk you. They will hunt you. They will wait for the precise moment in which you are vulnerable and alone. It is then they will strike, then all of us, your housemates and I, will be without our Juliet for the remainder of our lives."

  
Oh, how easily this wrong could be made a right. If only she could tell him that she was allied with his ambusher, only then would the muck be cleaned up. However, that would only bring more grime than before. He would have her killed at best for treason, conspiring in a plot to have him murdered. What is she to do but obey him? She should admire him, be thankful for his thoughtfulness, so willing to go out of his way to keep her protected by a threat he is convinced is present.

  
The longer she lingered on it, the more darling she found it to be.

  
As a matter of fact, the longer she lingered on it, the more darling she found him to be. Again. Those blasted emotions came about once more, bettering her senses, bettering her common sense. This was the enemy, the man she should be concerned about killing. The man she's been told to stay away from all her life by the people she adored and respected the most. She ought to have been ashamed her herself. Yet, somehow, the luxury which was being in love seduced her into ignorantly acting as though any thoughts of shame never existed.

  
Later that day, leading into night, the two of them sat alone in the chambers of the Archduke, dining on what was supper. It, to her surprise, wasn't as elaborate as she imagined it to be. Oft she heard stories of the dinners of the Archduke and nobles; they dined on full sized chickens and grand salads nightly. Soups would sit on the side with full loaves of bread, glasses of wine their neighbors. Now, what was reality did not live up to her expectations, yet they still managed to outshine even the best of suppers Cordelia had to offer on special occasions such as birthdays or holidays.

  
Tonight it was chowder, thick and flavorful, a small salad sitting on a saucer at her side, a tall glass of water above her silverware. She eyed the meal with a flush, being a stranger to such a luxury. At first, she was reluctant to eat, explaining that she did not deserve to come intrude in his home and then eat his food. He reminded her, though, that it was he who brought her here, and it was here she was to stay for the sake of protection. Afterwards, she was not so guilty to eat.

  
They sat together at a small table at the side of his room, quietly eating. Halfway through the meal, however, he found himself gazing at her over the candle light. She had to admit; she was eating particularly fast, not because she was starving or anything... The food was just very delicious, more delicious than what a simple commoner's pepper could do to flavor a meal. Instantly, upon noticing his eyes glued on to her, she halted, allowing her head to rise. Again, color rushed to her cheeks, her spoon gently being laid to rest on her napkin.

  
"Dear me." she uttered. "I was eating awfully fast; I've been taught better."

  
"Funny." he commented. "You eat as though you've not a meal in a long while."

  
"N-Nay, its simply been a while since I had a meal so tasty." a laugh escaped nervously from her lips. "It's quite delicious."  
Carelessly, he leaned back in his seat.

  
"Oh? So thou art without tasty meals at home?" a brow dropped. "Just what kinds of servants doth thou have working for thee?"

  
Waves of heat shot up her body, alarming her.

  
"Why, regular servants of course..." she replied. "They clean quite well, but I suppose cooking has never been their specialty. It is food nonetheless, so I eat it with joy. Or perhaps I am flattered to dine with you, The Archduke, tonight; my tongue must be acting up on me, telling me the food is heavenly. Perhaps it is a spice I've never laid tongue upon? Perhaps I am nervous? Perhaps-"

  
"Yea, yea, Juliet I see that thou art in a foreign room eating foreign food. There is no need to act you do not like it, no need to pretend as if you are an actress in a play. Slow down, please, whether you like the soup or not."

  
The flush grew mad.

  
"Of course, Your Majesty. I jest thou not, though, I feel I should mention."

  
"Oh? Have you ever dined on such a meal? A meal from a castle?"

  
"Why no," she paused. "At least not a meal from the castle of Neo Verona. It has exceeded my expectations quite well."   
She caught him eyeing her suspiciously, his mouth sinking into a frown. Immediately in return, she felt yet another wave of heat sweep her over.

  
"Odd." he commented again. "I've hosted a few banquets open to all noble houses over a month or so. You attended I'm sure. Did you eat my food when you did? Or perhaps you were sick on all of those occasions? Out with a friend? A special occasion with your housemates?"

  
His tone alone hinted to a certain amount of uncertainty, as if he was questioning her from being of a noble house. She grew nervous again, cursing herself for committing actions that led them to where they were now. She had to be careful; one discovery could lead to the next. First that she was not, in fact, a noblewoman, then her identity as the dreaded daughter of Capulet, the girl he'd sworn upon his beloved mother's grave to end.

  
He left her quiet, for one simple excuse could not excuse each occasion in which she failed to attend some petty banquet. One time was most likely no problem at all. Two times was more often than not a coincidence. Three times was leery. Four could be considered anything but coincidence. Every excuse was already taken by him, as he named off all her mind first jumped to. She had to do something. She had to do something quickly.

  
At that moment, however, the chime of a mighty grandfather clock rang throughout the room, echoing as it bounced on the floors to the walls to the ceiling. She jumped, alarmed, tense. The Archduke, much more relaxed in comparison, quietly listened to all the chimes more the clock delivered, all without laying a single eye on her.

  
One.

  
Two.

  
Three.

Four.

  
Five.

  
Six.

  
Seven.

  
Eight.

  
The outdoors most definitely testified to the time, for darkness had blanketed over the city, lighted only by torches running along the sides of the streets. They glowed like fireflies, unmoving, unblinking, yet to die. She was pulled from her thoughts, however, when The Archduke shifted his weight, then returned to his meal.

  
"Twenty hundred." he whispered. "It is nearing bedtime, Juliet." quietly, he looked up from his soup for just a moment. "When that time draws to the present, you are welcome to my bed. Of course, if you are more comfortable being alone, your room is always open and free of any unwanted visitors."

  
The flush spread further; but that didn't bother her, she was just happy the subject was changed. Saved by the chime, she would laugh to herself later. Again, she picked up her spoon, much slower this time, then, like The Archduke, returned to her meal.

  
"O-Of course..." she trailed off. "The room you've appointed for me shall suffice. I... I shall do quite nicely in there."

  
A smile suddenly grew on his face, his eyes plush and sweet.

  
"Delightful." he murmured softly. "I hope you find a comforting air in there; long ago, before my mother separated from my father to instead reside in the convent, that room belonged to her. Every room she stayed in always had such a sense of warmth inside of it. Not some hot, uncomfortable sort of warmth which induced stress. Rather a lovely sort of warmth; it cradles you to bed each night, tucking you in beneath your sheets."

  
"That... Sounds lovely." she awkwardly replied.

  
Just a moment later, the boy rose from his seat, stretched, then slowly headed towards another wall of the room.

  
"You will need sleep clothes as well." he said. "Your attire is no attire to wear when you go to bed I'm sure you know. Let me lend you some garments for comfort." following, he approached one of two dressers, opened a drawer, then began to dig inside softly, with an abnormal amount of care. Seeing this, she shook her head furiously.

  
"Oh, Y-Your Majesty, there's no need for me to borrow your clothes, this dress is quite plush; I shall sleep fine in..." the boy turned around, a garment in hand, his eyes silencing her. He gave her yet another gentle smile.

  
"Nay, these garments are not mine." she rose nervously as he drew closer to her. "They too belonged to my mother. Do you see? I, nearing manhood, would not wear garments of silk so delicate and slender." he chuckled. "Thou lie. Thou art too a jest."

  
She laughed fake along with him.

  
"This be of your mother as well?" she shook. "Nay, nay, Your Majesty; I've plenty of respect for the dead, especially for the dead who were so highly regarded by the living. I cannot take more than one thing that is rightfully your mother's, not when I have never even laid eyes upon her face."

  
His gentleness remained.

  
"I insist." he replied, nowhere near forceful. "My mother told me once, once ago, when the world was still such a mystery to me, that should she ever pass before I find myself another woman to hold dear that is not her, she would like her things to go solely to her. She spoke of you that day, Juliet. I hold you very dear; in a since, more dear than my mother." he offered the garment. "She would have loved you, Juliet; I am as sure as the setting sun. In my younger days, my mother always went on and on about when I would marry, so excited for a daughter. Why, if she were here in this castle today, or off in the convent, she would spend more time with you than I. She would have been honored to see you wear what is hers. So please; make yourself comfortable, there is no reason to decline. I am simply following my mother's wishes."

  
She took the piece with a still surviving flush, her hand quivering. How odd she felt, to feel so loved by a woman she's never met. Perhaps it had something to do with her never recalling her own mother, perhaps it came from the honesty in the boy's voice. Honesty. Yes, honesty. The boy sounded so honest as he spoke. Was it true? Was he telling the truth? The boy who crafted lies so professionally? Yes, she was sure. Something in her, her intuition most likely, told her there was nothing to fear.   
And so, she held the garment, silky and cool to the touch, with pride. To be held special by him... It left her feeling strange, yet happy. Deep down, she knew that strangeness stemmed from her raging conscience, telling her what was right, reminding her she knew what she was doing was wrong. Yet her emotions, those pitifully powerful emotions, they oozed and swelled with love. She was so in love. She couldn't deny it. And judging by the expressions and words of the Archduke, he was no different. Their feelings mutual. With feelings mutual, they were in a dangerous position being alone inside his chambers. Yes, she had no choice but to force herself into her appointed room, that way, she will prevent herself from making a mistake, a huge mistake.

  
They finished dinner before parting ways, and even so, when they parted ways, it took a while. Rather, they were good bye-ing for too long, even though she was going just a door down. But when she finally gained her freedom from an embrace, she bid her good nights, then returned to her temporary chambers. There, she became quiet, changing into the simple nightgown with a face of awkwardness. Her dress and undergarments, now folded, lay neatly at the end of the freshly made bed. She then eyed herself in a mirror standing on the floor. The gown, silky and shiny, reached down to her shins; excellent, a perfect fit, nothing close to inappropriate. Yet at the same time, she couldn't help but feel inappropriate still, even after everything the Archduke had told her.

  
She couldn't help but wonder, wonder if it was a mistake she was making, but the more she lingered upon it, the more she realized there was nothing she could do about it. The only option she had available was the closest to the best; act natural, pretend just long enough until she could flee back home. Only then will she be home free, free to release her breath and shout her name.

  
The moon peered inside the room with its paleness, looking back down at her through the large mighty window living on the wall. It was nearly full, a lovely shade of blue, surely attracting the howls of wolves and dogs. She took the time to admire it from her bed upon which she lay, shielded by the covers. The bed was a lavish, for it felt something similar to a cloud, soft and fluffy, inviting her to sleep. Yet, for some reason, she could not succumb to its mighty powers. Being in such an alien environment without something, anything, to defend herself... She simply could not feel at peace. So, she lay for a while, gazing out into the darkness of the chamber. The Archduke's grandfather clock just a wall away could be heard chiming a few times more, promising ten o'clock, an hour at which she rarely ventured into. Her conscience, again, urged her to do what was best; sleep. She couldn't. She wouldn't let herself. Neither would that knock on the door.

  
Yes, after nearly two hours of laying, she heard a knock sound at her door, a knock which echoed throughout the room menacingly and eerily. At first, she had figured the lack of sleep had tricked her ears into hearing things that were not there to hear, that she was in a light state of sleep in which her mind conceived fantasies. But as time went on, the know grew more and more forceful, as if the knocker was trying to awaken her. There came a point in which she was sure that knock was no illusion. So, she brought herself from her bed, set her feet on the cold tile floor, then nimbly made her way to the door.

  
"Who at my door is standing?" she asked once arriving.

  
"It is I: Romeo."

  
She felt her heart sting.

  
"O-Oh, truly?" she asked, then leaned against the postern. "Be there something amiss? What can I do for you?"

  
"I simply wish for entrance." he replied. "Will you grant it for me?"

  
She became still, her eyes wide, gazing down at the floor which chilled her toes. Her conscience, still fighting, then dug through the filing cabinet of her memory. A hand went over her chest, then clutched it, hoping to slow her heartbeat. Failure. She recalled the things Conrad, Curio and Francisco had told her. Not about the Archduke exclusively, but rather young men in general. Not all young men, there were exceptions as polite little Antonio would soon be, but those exceptions were few in numbers. They told her of many men and their evil ways, the way they would try to play her like a fiddle. How they would get her somewhere alone, disarmed, secluded from any help, then use their strength against her and destroy her innocence, then leave her to mourn her loss for all her life. She remembered those words well, and they would not abandon her, neither would she abandon them. They prevented her from wrapping her palm on the doorknob. Instead, she sighed, then pressed her cheek upon the door even harder.

  
"Is... Is now an appropriate time?" she asked, unsure.

  
"Yes. Now is an appropriate time." the voice replied gently. "I would like to speak with you."

  
"Perhaps the morning would be the superior? When the sun has risen and the servants have awoken?"

  
"It is only a chat."

  
"Yea, but perhaps later..."

  
A string of silence followed, only a sigh escaped the Archduke's lips, tension in his voice. She hung her head, waiting for a response, hoping there would not be a lash of anger which would follow, hoping she would be able to return to bed unharmed and unscarred.

  
"I am not going to force you to do anything you would not wish of me, Juliet." he grumbled. "I've a suspicion you avoid me because you've no trust in me. Tell me, do you think I will try to do something to you? Have you been taught by your housemates and guardians not to trust an extra-familial man during the hours of night?"

  
She closed her eyes.

  
"Indeed." her lips exhaled.

  
"They are good teachers then. Bless them. But I would like to ask of you one exception; should you be even the slightest of displeased with me, you are free to have me punished. I promise, and it is a promise I shall not break."

  
She remained still, her muscles tense, her eyes wide. Her hand eased towards the knob, shaking, making second thoughts. She should. She shouldn't. She should. She shouldn't. Oh... What did it matter? He made a promise. He would have live up to it, lest he be damned. Her hand turned the lock, then her palm wrapped around the cold metal knob. Slowly, with a creak, she drew the door towards her, peering inside the small ever-growing crack. There, she lay eyes upon him, standing before the postern, covered modestly in his sleeping attire, both top and bottom, his eyes gazing neutrally at her face.

  
For a moment, they gazed at one another, her eyes slowly narrowing.

  
"Very well then." she murmured. "I will hold you to your word."

  
And thus, she invited him inside. And immediately, she had regrets. He shut the door behind him. He locked the door. It was at that moment, she heard the darkness laugh, her heart nearly fail to beat. His eyes suddenly grew cold. He gazed at her relentlessly. Unresting. Unforgiving. She felt her feet distance herself from him nervously, yet trying to keep her face still and stoic. A good job wasn't exactly the best she could do.

  
"What's this you find so urgent, Your Majesty?"

  
"I need to discuss something with you." he approached her, a negative vibe emitting from his body. She backed away with each step he took closer. "Tell me your house again."

  
Her heart stopped.

  
"Crespo." she said quietly. On a dime, the Archduke's face hardened.

  
"Crespo." he echoed stiffly. "There is only one Crespo house, that house is barren of daughters; only sons. I am certain now." he continued to walk, even when she stopped in attempt to stay strong, to look innocent. She already knew what he was on to. She didn't like the way he was headed.

  
"Dear me." she whispered. "You must have the wrong Crespo..."

  
"There is only one." He repeated strictly, no less than a foot away from her. On instinct, she backed away further. He chased her all the way to the wall, which her back pressed lightly against. She couldn't help but gaze up into his grim eyes, horror replacing any attempt to stand tall.

  
"Only... One?" she whispered.

  
"You have lied to me." he growled. "Deceived me. Played me." His brows furrowed. "I know, Juliet, that you are no noblewoman. You are alien to the ways of aristocratic living. You were unaware of the many dinners I've invited the nobles to. You see the everyday lavishes of a noble as once in a lifetime blessings. You take so long to arrive at the old church, which is so close to the aristocratic quarters, so far far the commoner's district. You speak of nobles and aristocrats with misconceptions of commoners. You speak like commoners." he delved into her eyes. "I am done believing your lies."   
All blood fled from her face.

  
"I..."

  
"I have come to receive confirmation. I already know what is true. I want to hear your lips admit that truth."

  
Her heart sank, her lips sealed shut. Ever so slowly, her hands, once held up so defensively, sank to her side, her head turned away, trying to escape his angry glare, trying to find solace. This was it. She was done. All because she was stupid enough to believe a lie. She was such an idiot. Such an idiot. Such an ignoramus. Such a fool. Her trickery could not go on for long, for she, being a novice liar, was bound to be unmasked. She could not deceive the master of lies. A quivered sigh escaped her lips, begging to call for help, begging for her family to come bursting through the windows, where they would surround her, shielding her life with their own.

  
"Very well so." she whimpered. "I am no noblewoman, nor aristocrat. I am but a commoner, a wretched one at that, one that had somehow came to the Rose Ball along side a friend that had loose ties of a nobleman. I snuck in with no humbleness of my position. I, like a filthy rat, deceived you, the Archduke of Neo Verona."

  
He gazed at her the entire time, his body unmoving, but ever so tense. She cowered beneath his presence, looking away in shame. She knew her line was soon coming to an end. Very, very soon.

  
"Tell me." he murmured grimly. "For what reason did you deceive me so? A conspiracy? A trap? A selfish attempt to bring yourself out of the filthy living of the less wealthy?"

  
"Nay, nay, Your Majesty, I..." she shut her eyes, holding back tears. "I was drawn to you the night we met, the way you looked at me, the way you spoke. You were so stiff, as if womankind was a new species to you. I saw something I'd never seen before, and I felt something I'd never felt before. But I knew, with I, being a commoner, a piece of filth in comparison, that such feelings would never be permitted."

  
The bridge of his nose wrinkled.

  
"Tell me what you felt."

  
"Love. Love I'm sure. Love, and I am not ashamed to say such." Her hands returned to her chest, defensively guarding herself. "But of course, how could you believe a filthy lie which is me? Oh woe is me, for deceiving a noble, The Archduke of all. Oh woe is me, for I am a commoner. I've no humanly rights before your presence, Your Majesty, not when I am a commoner and a wretched liar. Let you punish me. Let you abuse me and rob me of my innocence for your pleasure. Please though; spare me, for I am not all badness."

  
At that instant, his eyes hardened with rage.

  
"You looketh upon me as such?" he exclaimed. "You see me as a pig consumed with self and lust? For what? Because I am Archduke? Because you are a commoner?" his hands clenched. "I am no such man! To fall subject of such an accusation would lead me to summon demons and lash them upon my foes should I receive the chance! Have you no perception of humanity in me? Do you see an animal instead of a man?"

  
She could not answer, and when she would not for a long while, she felt her shoulders grabbed by two mighty hands. Not for any good reason such as a passionate kiss; rather, to be drug over to the other end of her chambers, where she would be shoved onto her bed. Yes. She should have known better than to allow him in. She should have listened to her conscience. To Conrad. To Curio. To Francisco. She was such an idiot. An idiot who thought she had the world so figured out.

  
The next thing she knew, she was laying there, her shoulders pinned down by either of his hands, his hips crushing down upon hers, his head hovering above her face. His was marked by rage. Hers marked by terror. Her body was limp, refusing to offer any attempt to break free. Instead she lay there, feeling as his hand glided down, then gripped the hem of the gown, the only thing shielding her body.

  
"Thou art correct." he growled. "You do not have any value, nor worth, in my presence. I can do as I please. I can force you down as I do now. I am bigger than you. I am stronger than you. I've more power than you. I can tear this garment off of you right now, and then, I can feast my eyes upon your naked flesh. Then, I can tear my own garments off as well, then enter to steal your virginity. All mine to keep." his face eased closer. "Tell me Juliet, do you realize I could have done this such a long time ago? Commoner or not? When you encountered me at the ball, I could have pulled you to my chambers, then force myself into you. When we met at the old church, I could have carried you away as I did today, then, once I arrive at the castle, pull you into my chambers and force myself into you. Earlier tonight, I would have forced you onto my bed and took you before supper had even ended. Why, even now, I would have taken an opportunity so ripe."

  
Her eyes, dull and glassy, wide with fear, gazed up at him.

"Then..." her voice breathed. "Wherefore do you not take my innocence already?"

  
His eyes too grew dull, void of anything, including the fire which was once anger. His head sank lowly, hanging from its neck lower than it should. That same head shook softly, his eyes closing with stress, his lips beginning to quiver.

  
"Because, Juliet..." tears gathered at the brim of his eyes. "How could I? To the woman I've fallen so madly in love with? To the woman wearing my mother's gown?" a drop dotted her throat. "How could I when that would make me no different than those I've nurtured such hatred for? The ones who took the same from me? The butcher. My father. If I took your innocence, I would be a monster; a monster like the butcher, a monster like my father." he heaved a sob as his hands gently released her, his face laying itself gently into the crook her neck. "Juliet... You, the woman who captured my heart... The woman I've pledged to protect from monsters like those I've spent so much time running from... You've made my life Heaven. You've made it blessed, so bearable, so pleasant, so soft, so sweet. Like water flowing gently through a river spiked with cane sugar... Unending, fattening, sickening, and thick, flowing with laziness like honey and syrup..."

  
His head brought itself up to gaze into her eyes. She gazed back widely, her heart pounding, warmth pooling in her stomach, her eyes puffy and hot, her face furiously red... All alive to see a pair of glowing sea green eyes staring at her, beckoning like a child. Those tears... They streamed down his face so slowly, dripping off the stalactite of his chin onto her, his face red with sorrow. With passion. With love.

  
"...Please, Juliet..." he leaned in closer. "... Grant me the permission to return your favors..."

  
Then, amongst the chirping of night crickets, beneath the pale blanket of the moon, their lips met softly, all without creating so much as a sound.

 


	16. Recollection

When morning dawned, the sun shined down on the land. The grass glowed from dew, the chirps awoke to sing, the farmers were out toiling in their fields. A ray of sun crawled into the chamber by the window, it slithered across the floor, scaled up the blankets atop the bed, then finally, laid rest upon her face, covering it like a mask. It caused her to rouse with a moan, her face stiffening, then her eyes slowly pry open, where they saw the beauty which was the outdoors waiting just outside her window; the sky was blue and cloudless, the city thriving below.

  
It took just a moment to fully awaken, and when she did, she then felt a pair of arms that had been wrapped loosely around her torso, cradling her hip. It was a comforting and warm embrace, one she came to like. A sigh escaped her nose before she rolled herself over, where her eyes then met the owner of the arms. The one she expected to find there.

  
His face was relaxed, branded by sleep. His eyes shut. A subtle frown. Slow, deep breaths. Yet even so, through his slumber, his arms felt her movement, and, in response, they adjusted with her, bettering its grip, then pulling her in closer to him. He curled up and gently set his chin atop her head, a gentle heave escaping his nose. She lay there, her eyes wide and confused, her mind scrambling to piece things back together. But then, recalling the night before, she closed her eyes again, allowing herself to drink in the warmth. A smile of satisfaction spread across her face.

  
The hand slid up her back suddenly, alarming her at first, but only a matter of seconds later, she found herself relaxed once again. The palm rested on her shoulder, its fingers playing along her blades, then finally they came to gently rub her meat, just hard enough to draw a moan. A chuckle sounded from him as he continued, his eyes opening.

  
"Good morning." his voice was low, yet chirpy. "The best of mornings are those where you rouse with a massage, are they not?"

  
She moaned in response, wrestled herself free from his embrace, then rolled onto her belly. There she lay with her jaw atop her hands, her head sideways, looking at him, admiring a darling smile on his lips. Lips. Those were the last things she felt before she fell asleep the night before, so she recalled. Little did such matter; she was more consumed by the present, allowing his hand all over her back like a paintbrush on a fresh canvas.

  
His rubs, with his mighty hands, were strong, yet gentle, so very in control. They found the precise places, right where her meat was the stiffest, then tamed them into tenderness. Such a treatment was alien to her, but boy was she willing to grow used to it. He shifted closer to her, pulling her sides against himself, granting his arm better reach across her shoulders. The shift was slow and lazy, as told by the crinkling of fresh blankets and sheets.

  
"Such a face to awaken to..." he whispered, his massaging hand abandoning its post to brush away a bang from her forehead. She whined in response, pressing herself closer to him, inducing a smile, then another chuckle. "My." he added. "You act quite spoiled for a commoner..." the hand returned to where it belonged.

  
Sleep invited her to come back and stay, and she was prepared to follow it. However, before she could venture too far into the depths of its chambers, there sounded a knock on the door. Immediately, at the fault of impulse, her head raised with concern, only for his hand to reach up and gently bring it back down.

  
"Shh." he murmured. "There's not a need to rouse just yet... Tis but only breakfast."

  
The doors opened, revealing a man coming inside, pushing a small cart before him. The cart was adorned with food; a nice sized bowl of fruits, a bowl of steaming porridge, a tall glass of milk. The man wheeled the cart to the side of the bed, then eyed curiously down at the two of them, sure not to make such a gesture obvious. Juliet picked up on this, however; she eased closer to the Archduke coyly, trying to hide herself.

  
"Your meal, Your Majesty." the man announced lowly, almost unenthusiastic. In response, the boy peered over his shoulder.

  
"You may go." he grumbled sheepishly. "I shall eat once I rise."

  
With that, the man did not utter a word in response. He simply left quietly, sure to shut the doors behind him. A flush spread across Juliet's cheeks as she listened, her face buried in he crook of his neck.

  
"He did not sound too excited to deliver breakfast to the Archduke." she commented before snuggling closer.

  
"Nay, nay..." he whispered, then continued to rub her shoulders. "I believe it was because he saw you. Disgusted with me, surely, for he assumed you were a whore for hire."

  
Immediately, her flush grew furious, and she darted from his embrace to the edge of the bed, where she stood to her feet. She hugged herself, embarrassed.

  
"Dear me!' she exclaimed, flustered. "Sleeping in the same bed as you when we're not wedded... I must definitely seem to be a whore!"

  
She heard him chuckle, unmoving from his original position. He gazed at her with delight.

  
"There's no reason." he said. "You are dressed. I am dressed. These clothes have not left our bodies all night. Our naked bodies have not met the each all night either. Indeed, that is a thing for wed." he chuckled again. "My Juliet. So lewd. Having desires she should not yet have."

  
Embarrassed further, she turned away, then seated herself at the edge of her bed.

  
"Teasing boy. You're quite immature."

  
"Nay," his smile remained. "Simply happy." then after, he pulled her closer to lock his lips against her own.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Antonio had not slept. Rather, none of them exactly slept, not soundly anyhow. When the sun dawned, the boy found the adults awake, sitting at the table, looking over a piece of paper, their hands holding their heads. Antonio, slightly curious, yet ashamed, peered from the side of the door frame, trying to hide himself from the eyes of the men at the table; he watched them quietly, watched as they sighed and groaned and balled up their fists.

  
"These layouts are at least fourteen years old, Conrad." Curio growled. "How can we be sure the castle is the same as it was before? Why, I, once being being a member of the elite guard, would never forget how to navigate myself through the walls of the castle. It has been too long. These maps are too old. Surely things such as rooms have been added or removed."

  
Francisco tiredly nodded.

  
"Indeed." he murmured. "Not to mention we would have no idea as to where Lady Juliet's whereabouts would be within the castle."

  
Conrad, listening to the two of them, kept his eyes on the old dusty paper, his eyes dull, his lips frowning. At last, he sighed, then allowed his head to sink.

  
"Antonio." he grumbled. Immediately, Antonio, who thought he was hidden, sunk, trying to hide himself. "Come in here and explain something to us again."

  
Antonio, like a guilty child, walked into the dining room, his head hanging. He slowly approached the man's side, his voice weak and filled with sorrow.

"Yes, grandfather?"

  
"About what you told us last night." Conrad's brows furrowed. "What was it that Lady Juliet had said unto thee? The night before the two of you decided to foolishly take into your hands business which belongs to adults?"

  
Antonio's head sunk lower.

  
"Grandfather... She explained not much to me but... She had been secretly meeting with the Archduke once a week at the old church near the aristocratic quarters. She always departed in secret just an hour before the sun would retire..."

  
Conrad sighed, the buried his face in his hands. Francisco, instead of mirroring the elderly man, eyes the boy intently.

  
"Wherefore?" he inquired. "Because he demanded it of her under the threat of blackmail?"

  
Antonio wished to shrink into nonexistence.

  
"N-Nay, Francisco, sir." his eyes fled. "They had fallen in love."

  
The room became quiet, their brows furrowed angrily.

  
"To think." Conrad growled. "To think she would abandon her common sense so willingly. She has seen what his name has done to this country, her country. She knows the difference between right and wrong from our constant teachings. She knows the Archduke is a murderer that killed a man in cold blood to fulfill greed. He killed his own father. And yet, she so blindly believed words of charm so well crafted."

  
"If that is the case though, we have reason to believe she is not kept in the dungeon." Curio added coolly. "That would mean she lingers someplace in the higher towers of the castle where the Archduke, her so called lover, would roam." his head shook. "Heavens. If she is so close to that boy during the hours of night... I cannot imagine the horrors he could do to her."   
Antonio's brows raised, a subtle gasp sounding from him.

  
"Good heavens." he whispered. "Please tell me she is not in that much dismay! To be... To be..."

  
"We can only hope not." Conrad raised his head. "And while doing so, plan our way to retrieve her."

 


	17. The Archduke's Anxieties

_His tummy was growling, demanding food. Neo Verona had a lovely Capitol, and it was full of food and yummy things to eat. Surely, he continued to remind himself, he could find something to satisfy his need for food. But he'd been wandering for nearly three days, sleeping in alleys, drinking rain water, sauntering frailly around the cobblestone streets. His hope was depleting. Oh. He hated this time of year. He hated it so, so, so much._

  
_A religious month. It was the month in which the convent was locked down, offering peace and quiet to the nuns inside so that they may spend the entire time fasting and entranced in prayer before the alter. Not a soul was allowed in. Not even a hungry little Romeo to see his mother and be fed. Twenty eight miserable days was what it was; twenty eight miserable days in the streets, longing for her embrace and the warmth of her bed. In the streets, scavenging for crumbs like a beggar.  
His father and the castle was never an option, nor something he could count on. The man was drunk all day, all night. He was harsh when he was drunk. He did things no father should ever do to his son when he was drunk. Things such as refusing to feed him._

_  
"What age have you dawned upon, boy? Eight years?" he had said in one of his more sober states. "You will grow sloth if you continue to depend on me for food. You are old enough to get your own."_

_  
Every pair of eyes in the city recognized his face. His blue hair. His sea green eyes. When he dared to play knocks on the door of a home during the hours of lunch, sometimes dinner, the doors would open, and he would request food, even the smallest of scraps. But they would not yield him any, for they knew he was the son of the Archduke, Leantes. The commoners in the commoner's district hated him because their ruler was cruel and selfish. The aristocrats hated him because their ruler was always willing to put their rank and money in jeopardy for the sake of maintaining control._

_  
Once, there was a family he came across that did not recognize him for who he was. When they opened the door, they found him standing in the dark at their doorstep, requesting table scraps hoarsely and pitifully. He was dirty, bags hanging beneath his eyes, the clothes covering his body baggy, for weight had been lost. These people, to his delight, we're so incredibly sensitive, they allowed him inside their warm home, then sat him at their dinner table with their children. They fed him very well. He laughed with them. He ate with them. He drank with them. And each time he looked up at the man of the family, oh, how he longed to proclaim the man his father._

_  
But then, halfway into the meal, they inquired of him his name. And, stiffly, he entitled himself truthfully; Romeo Candore Van DeMontague. In a moment's worth, the woman had beckoned her children away, the man grabbed the broom. He was chased from the house, whacked a time or two by bristles on the head. He stumbled off the doorsteps. The man commanded he never return before slamming the door shut._

_  
Since then, he would roam the city at night, peering into the windows of homes. The setting was normally the same; there was a father at the head of a table, a smiling wife at his side, a number of children before them, all eating happily. Each time he would see the picture, he would turn his gaze away, lest he would loose control and allow an emotion, often rage, often sorrow, to take him over._

_  
But then, on one day in particular, a man called him over suddenly as he roamed through the square of the commoner's district around midday. It was strange, for the man called him by name. Not by Montague, the name that required respect, yet was despised instead; it was by the name only the dearest of people in his life called him:_

_  
"Romeo! Romeo! Come, Romeo! Over here!"_

_  
His head raised, and he, while hiding in the shadows of an alley, surveyed the area. The calling continued. First, it sounded as though it was coming from the right of the busy crowded square. Then it sounded as though it was coming from the left. Then the right, then the left. But then, he realized, it came from a vendor: the butcher at the edge of the square. Curious and lured by the friendly tone of the man's voice, the little boy departed from the sanctuary of the shadows, then approached him, his eyes wide with wonder._

_  
The butcher was a large, tubby man, yet he looked strong with his beefy arms. He held a few bags over his shoulders, all filled with raw meat he was sure. He looked down at him with a rare, friendly smile. It was odd to see a smile on the man's face, for his wife had just recently fallen ill. Romeo only knew this because just a week or so ago, for the first time as he recalled, the butcher approached his father sitting at his throne, begging for an herb which would remedy his spouse's sickness. But, much to his dismay, every cabinet was without such an herb. The man was furious, for he took it for a lie. He was then thrown out of the castle for screaming at the Archduke with rage._

_  
"Good morrow." he said kindly to the boy. "Is that you, little Romeo? The son of Leantes and Lady Portia? Our Archduke to be?"_

_  
Timid, the boy felt very, very small in the butcher's presence. He felt like he was shrinking, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. He stared up at the man, hints of fear dotted in his little eyes._

_  
"I-Indeed," he replied quietly. "For what reason do you call me? A hand of help perhaps?"_

_  
The man gave him a hearty laugh._

_  
"Why not at all, boy; I've seen you wandering the square for the past few days from my shop, eyeing the food for sale with desire; I could not help but wonder; is our little Romeo hungry? Be there no food stocked in the castle?"_

_  
As if it had heard, the boy's stomach roared. Weakly, he lay his palm across it, hoping that in doing so, it would be silenced likes dog in his muzzle._

_  
"Nay, there is plenty of food in the castle... Father is just not willing to share with me. And my mother, she is in the convent, where I am not allowed inside as of now."_

_The man looked down at him pitifully._

_  
"Dear child, you must be starved having none to provide for you; all of the country despises your name, does it not? I shall listen to my bone of kindness today and invite you to my home for lunch. Today is one of my children's birthday, therefore we are having ourselves quite a generous amount of food available for the celebration. Perhaps you would fancy accepting the offer?"_

_  
His eyes grew wide._

_  
"Truly, sir?" he inquired. "You would do such for me? Me? When I am my father's son?"_

_  
"Of course, boy." the butcher picked up the final bags, then slung them all over his shoulder without any hassle. "Any day now, you may resume the throne of the country, for we never know when the day shall come in which your father drinks himself to death. We must have you well fed, that way, our Archduke shall be healthy for when his times comes. Come now; I am closing shop early today so that I may spend the rest of today celebrating with my family."_

_  
The boy skipped next to him as they trekked to the butcher's home. He had plenty of expectations; children running all over the house, laughing, calling, playing games. He was so very excited to eat and play. And to know that there at least one man in the city that bothered to hold his wing over his head... It brightened his spirits._

_  
Except, once they arrived, he realized something was amiss, for the house was empty and cold, barren of any life. It was clean, well kept, filled with furniture crafted from wood, and yet, it felt so empty without the expectations the boy had had. The moment he had taken all of this in, he looked up at the large, powerful, butcher, watching as he lay his sacks of meat on the counter._

_  
"Your house is without many people; quite strange for a party." the boy commented modestly. "Be there a reason?"_

_  
"Yes, of course." the man turned around to look at him. "The party has yet to start. However, I do have some food cooked, and a helping hand is the thing I shall require in order to set up. I shall feed you, then we shall work, and once that is all finished, the time of the celebration should be drawing near." he walked to the side, heading towards the hall. "Come, hungry one, the food is this way."_

_  
The boy found this claim odd, for they were just standing in the kitchen, where he was just residing beside the dining table. Even so, he found trust in the man, thus he followed him down that hall. But then, suddenly, the man's mighty hand reached down, then wrapped his fingers around his skull, guiding him into a dark room. A chamber whose door was slammed shut, then locked._

_  
And the poor boy was never to depart the same boy, for the horrors which occurred behind such a door were horrors that would haunt him day in day out. Horrors which drove him away from the square, for he knew he would if was there he would lay eyes upon the butcher again. Horrors he was ashamed of, horrors he wouldn't even explain to his dear mother. Why, the butcher was no different than his father when he was drunk._

_  
All for what? Revenge._

_  
He committed an act so wretched, so evil, so sick. He did so without shame, holding the boy down with his mighty arms, immobilizing him, leaving him without any power, which was little in the first place, abandoned to hunger. He was left to simply allow it to happen. As the butcher did commit this horrid act, his lips drew down to his ear, ushering a fierce whisper over the boy's cries for help._

_  
"For my dear wife." he hissed. "She lies on her death bed, and yet your damned father has no respect for her life, nor any sympathy for me, her husband who shall be left to raise his children alone. Let punishment take its course. Your are wretched, boy; you are cursed, bound to wander the pits of hell once life is through with you. Your father shall grieve his loss. You shall grieve. Your entire name shall grieve just as I." he groaned. "Let the name of Montague be gored. Let_ _roses wilt and die. Let them be trampled upon. Stomped upon. May they be beggars for all their lives."_

_  
When he was finished, the room becoming quiet, the boy lay still on the man's bed, even when his arms had been set free. He heard the zip of a zipper. A growl. A hand grabbed the crown of his skull again, lifted him, then took him from the chamber, unclothed and all. He was thrown from a back door, and his skin, unprotected and barren, received scrapes to match the many scratches and wounds that had already been inflicted and spewing crimson. He lay in the alley, weeping, listening as the butcher stood at his door, growling at him._

_  
"Archduke to be." the butcher hissed. "Go and starve in the street like the filthy rat you are. Should you survive to claim the throne when the time comes, may you remember my wife and I."_

_  
And soon, when the boy brought the tip of a blade to his father many years later, the boy did recall the butcher. And when he did, his blood thirsty tongue would create a laugh which echoed throughout the empty halls of the castle._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One thing Juliet discovered about the Archduke later on that day as she spent more time with him; he was awfully persistent. Very persistent. For her, she came to realize, it was all in good heart, all for the sake of care. He had taken her out of the castle after sharing breakfast that morning and insisted on showing her the garden a dozen times; he insisted she would take a liking to it. He was so persistent on insisting. Little did she mind, however, she listened to him, then carelessly complied.  
Thankfully, she did come to like the garden; it was lovely and well groomed. Roses grew all over, pansies playing a more minor role. As a matter of fact, there were many types of flowers growing so uniform. Tulips. Lilies. Lotuses. Daisies. Sunflowers. She loved the sight of all of them so healthy and perky, yet there was one missing. The irises. There were no irises. She could partially understand, seeing that the boy had become convinced to hate the house it represented... But even so, a bone in her wished to ask why they were absent.

  
She silenced that bone, then followed the Archduke when he called out to her.

  
"Juliet, my love." he said, a bowl of fresh washed strawberries in his hand. "Please, follow; would you care to stroll through the hedge maze with me?"

  
She approached him.

  
"Will we not find ourselves lost?" she inquired. A laugh followed.

  
"Why of course not." he replied. "I know my way through the maze very well. The only one I'm sure. Come. Something lovely awaits at the heart."

  
And, indeed, they did find something rather lovely at the heart of the hedge maze; a quaint gazebo, pure white, sheltering a small bench. He gently led her to sit before taking a seat next to her, his hands carefully holding the bowl, fearing he may drop it. Afterwards, he took a berry from inside, a smile spread across his face as he offered it to her.

  
"For you, lovely." he said. "Has your tongue ever tasted a strawberry before?"

  
"Why of course." she replied swiftly. "Commoners are not uncultured peasants I'll have you know; we have the foods you do, they are just considered more of a lavish."

  
"Oh? And do you fancy them?"

"I do not see them as something I despise."

  
"Then I suppose you've no excuse to decline my offer; please, have one, they are in season and particularly sweet."

  
She quietly gave the berry a gaze before turning her head ever so slightly.

  
"Nay." she murmured. "I am not exactly in the mood, you see."

  
"Come now." he leaned against her softly, never daring to make her void of comfort. "I would hate to see you hungry, my love. You need to eat in order to function properly. You need to eat so that you may not starve; it is not pleasant to hear your stomach cry a tantrum."

  
"My stomach throws no tantrums as of now..." she set her head atop his shoulder. "Besides, O High and Spoiled Archduke, I've doubts you've experienced hunger. You speak as though it is no stranger to you."

  
His eyes dulled suddenly, but only for a moment, for he leaned in for a quick, but heartfelt, kiss. Their noses brushed against one another, foreheads clashing.

  
"Really now." he whispered upon release, pulling her closer. "And just how much are you so willing to wager?" Another kiss followed.

  
"I-" another interrupted her. "...Now that you speak so confidently, I've adopted second guesses, Your Majesty..."

  
"Juliet." he pulled away slightly. "Please. You are the woman I hold dear, don't you see? You are in no place to call me 'your majesty' as though thou art a servant or a peasant or anything further below me. I shall not tolerate it."

  
She flushed again.

  
"In such a case, pardon me, Your Ma-" she froze. "... What name shall I entitle you by then?"

  
"Please." he smiled the the umpteenth time. "Just Romeo, or whatever else your mouth bothers to call me. Within reason though, if you please." he pecked her lips one last time. "Now, regarding this strawberry..."

  
At that moment, her eyes lay on the ground neighboring the gazebo, a sight ushered a pleasant grin, perhaps even a slight gaps of surprise. The Archduke, being rather keen, took notice such, leading to to curiously eye her, then follow her gaze to a small healthy iris in bloom, gazing up at the sun, its supporter.

  
"Ah, an iris." Juliet observed, pleased. "A tame iris growing from the ground. What lovely petals it bares, so spotless and white."

  
"Ay. I had one planted here for the sake of my mother." his arm, once wrapped over her shoulder, fell off the back of the bench, leaving it to dangle mindlessly. "As you already know, Juliet, I have no irises but this one in my garden because I hate them. But of course, my mother was always tending to them in the convent's garden. I had to set anger aside for once in order to leave at least one for the sake of my mother's respect."

  
Quietly, she found her hands lacing themselves together over her lap, her chocolate brown eyes gazing curiously at the bloom, then to the sea green eyes which were his own. She blinked. He blinked. She took a deep breath.

  
"Your mother." she commented. "You must truly admire the woman which was she. You speak of her so peacefully, with such regard. I must ask... Romeo... What is it about your mother that you love ever so? That you would be so willing to go through so much? To commit acts you know would please her, even when she rests beneath the ground?"

  
His head turned away.

  
"My." he sounded. "I must have spoken of her far too often for you to take liking."

  
"Nay, nay, tis nothing like such." She eased closer. "It... It is that I have never heard a young man your age speak so thoughtfully of his mother so often. Rather, I've seen that young men would admire the wisdom and strength of his father or brothers or be concerned with who is the local champion of kickball."

  
"Kickball." the boy scoffed. "I've no time nor energy to fuss over matters such as kickball drama... Never once. But kickball itself... It does remind me of happiness." he turned to her, set the bowl down on the bench next to him, then took her hands in his own, holding them gently. "Juliet, my love, I was never well-liked during the days in which the world seemed so huge, like such a mysterious dream... The children in the streets, commoner or aristocrat, would not permit my playing with them... And, of course, my father never exactly bothered to spend his time on me. My mother was the one who would take me outside in the yard of the convent with an old beaten ball. She taught me how to be gentle, for she wore a skirt, a skirt not made for playing. She taught me love, for she had revealed it to me..." His head sunk, lower and lower, prepared to place itself atop her smooth, spotless palm he held in place. "She taught me so much. So much that wealth cannot educate, nor the bitter, cold streets of winter. I cannot imagine me without my mother in my earlier days, if the Capulet man had taken her life sooner. I fear the image, for I would be without any love at all. Had she never taken me inside her warm arms, I would have believed arms were for baring tools of war and slaughter. Had she never spoken kindly to me, Montague or not, I would have believed words were for cursing my enemies and demanding death to those who repel me. Had she not taken walks with me, her hand in mine, I would have believed palms were for fists, fists used for assault. Had she not shared her bed with me during the cold hours of night, I would have selfishly claimed everything I was to see mine in fear of loss. Had she not bothered to love me, the wretched Rose of Montague, I would have never trusted a soul, bound to drive myself over the brink of insanity.

  
"The day trailing my mother's goring, during a memorial in the midst of the convent, I remember reaching to pull myself up to peer inside her open casket. I remember spying upon her face, so lifeless and still. How I hoped, I prayed her eyes would open, that her breast would rise and fall, that she would reach up and embrace me to assure not a thing would be amiss. But I had realized, no such thing would ever occur no matter how many tears I shed. But one thing I did realize was the absolute love she held for me, and the absolute love I held for her. Since, I longed for nothing more than to honor her for softening her heart to me, her blasted son that so closely resembled the man that beat her every night and day. She deserves nothing less, perhaps more for always giving me solace to dash towards when clouds came thundering my way..."

  
Lunch soon arrived, as told the sundial while they were in the midst of a lighter form of chat a while later. They'd emptied the bowl of strawberries feeding one another, smiling and laughing like idiots the entire time. They were like idiots. They were supposed to be enemies. Juliet was aware, but the Archduke... Not so much. Even so, Juliet should have known better than to allow his lips to press against hers those countless amounts of times. She should have known better than to affectionately purr his name, Romeo, while gazing into his soft green eyes as he fed her a berry. She should have been worried about finding a blade of some sort, then bringing him to his end. Oh, but she just didn't feel like it... The hot puffiness in her eyes would not let her, just like the warm syrup pooling in the depths of her stomach.

  
Lunch was smaller than dinner, but still very filling; a small salad topped with cherry tomatoes, a special dressing, a stick of bread on the side, shaved carrots... And sliced strawberries. She had stabbed a piece of the fruit with her fork with a smile, giggled, then held it up.

  
"Lo." she captured his attention. "More strawberries."

  
He joined in with the giggling.

  
Then after, an air of awkwardness rose between the two of them when they left the lunch table around noon. He led her back to the hall in which their quarters resided, then stopped before his door to gaze upon her. He gave her a familiar smile of sweetness.

  
"It is at this time, after lunch, I normally lay myself down to rest before I rise again to work. Would you fancy napping? Or perhaps your body is not used to it?"

  
She eyed away.

  
"N-Nay, I oft nap on Sundays after church. It is nothing I am not used to..." her head cocked to the side. "A nap does sound rather appealing as of now, now that you have brought the idea onto the table..."

  
"Would you care to nap with me in my bed? There is plenty of room and warmth I assure you, I would be delighted to have you join me."

  
"Oh, your offer is undeniably tempting Romeo." she drew near to him, looking up into his eyes. "But we are putting ourselves in danger should we lie in the same bed, bound to kiss and let our hands roam..."

  
He gazed back down at her gently.

  
"If it is sex you are concerned about, my love, there is no need, for I have learned to control myself over the short course of being Archduke. Many women have approached me during balls, offering to lie with me. They were all very beautiful women like you." he sighed. "My mother taught me so much better than to make myself a pig from lust before I make a commitment."

  
She smiled.

  
"Excellent then." she pat his cheek. "I shall await in my innocence until we decide to make a commitment. It is good to know such a thing will never happen until then; please, wake me when you awaken, that is unless I had already roused myself." and with that, she turned around, making her way to her temporal chambers. At that moment, the Archduke, left in the dust, laughed to himself, reached out, then took her by the wrist.

  
"You tease." he pulled her in for an embrace. "Have your way then. I shall rouse at fourteen hundred, and I shall enter your room without knocking to wake you. Is that agreeable?"

  
She pat his cheek once more.

  
"Indeed. Best of rest to you, Romeo."

  
"Likewise." he set his chin stop her head. "Likewise indeed."

  
Hours later, she came to find out the Archduke had a very unpleasant job. All the while, as she watched him, she couldn't help but remind herself; one day, perhaps it is coming sooner than she knew, she would have to do the same thing when he was overthrown. Yes. It was very boring. Very excruciating, filled with unpleasant decisions.

  
He was sitting at a desk in his office, a quill over a sheet of paper, his eyes gazing dully down upon it. She sat over to the side, watching him curiously as he worked. Though, it had to be said... Nothing was exactly fun about watching him. Nothing entertaining in the slightest, nor anything which snatched interest. As a matter of fact, it appeared to be angering him.

  
"Romeo." she spoke up, eyeing him. Shortly after, he lifted his head, eyeing back. "Of what does your paper concern? For what reason do you look upon it with frustration?"

  
He narrowed his eyes.

  
"Pardon." he mumbled. "I do not believe this type of business meddles with your own. You've no need to fret over it, after all, it is my duty as Archduke."

  
Quietly, she dared to rise.

  
"I am your lover though, am I not?" she pulled her chair closer to his. "Please, allow me grant you an opinion unbiased as both partner of yours and commoner below."

  
"Nay... Nay..." he paused, then turned back to his paper, hanging his head in defeat. A sigh escaped his lips. "Well... Very well then. Unbiased, if you will. Simply your perception..." he took the paper, reread it, then cleared his throat. "The commoners, your people, are growing restless, angry over the struggles between classes. They propose that all aristocratic houses pay double the taxes to fund the army which defends our country from foes."

  
Her head rose in interest.

  
"Well." she said. "That seems to make sense. The aristocrats are naturally wealthier than the commoners, who oft struggle just to get food on the table. The aristocrats need to have something to spend their money on rather than wasting it on silly things like dragonsteeds painted to be pink."

  
A huff left the boy's lips.

  
"Unbiased, I see." he whispered sarcastically. "I do not believe you understand, my love. At one point in time, whether it be several generations ago or just recently, those aristocratic houses were once commoners. They worked and worked, saved their money until they were among the top of the class, where they moved to another class, the aristocrats. Their offspring would since share a wonderful taste of the fruits of their labor, not because of anything they have done, but simply due to the luck of being born into that household." he frowned. "It would be unjust to charge a home more simply because their ancestors worked harder than the rest."

  
In defeat, the girl's head sunk, and a sigh escaped her lips.

  
"Interesting insight." she murmured. "Never have I considered such a thing..."

  
Moments more of silence followed. Lots of silence. Just the Archduke gazing down at his paper. When the time came in which his ink would touch the paper, she watched him with curiosity, wondering what kind of decision he had made. She was almost tempted to rise, then peer over his shoulder to see what it was he was writing. ... And that was what she did, which, obviously, didn't appear to bother the Archduke, who continued to write.

  
"Ah." she said. "So you decline the proposal..."

  
"Yea. Forgive me for being rash to your people, but they as a whole need to tone down their jealousy towards those who've more fortune." he looked up at her softly. "And quite odd; you can read? For a commoner, education carries quite a hefty price tag. Just how did you learn?"

  
Oh bother, another question which made her uncomfortable. She knew how to read because it was Conrad, with the help of sweet Willy, that taught her when she was younger. Being the daughter Capulet, she was destined to be the Archduchess. What was a country when it was ruled over an Archduchess who could not read? It made perfect sense, of course, but now that cat out of the bag... Suspicion was bound to rise.

  
"Ah." she said. "My housemates taught me when I was younger. A few used to be of an aristocratic house. Of course, they were not able to teach me much, but I was able to further my learning by reading books."

  
"Oh? And from where did you get the books?"

  
"F-From the library..."

  
Nervous, she watched as he stood from his plush seat, approaching her slowly, looking down at her. She smiled with uneasiness.

  
"Please, Juliet, stop with your lying. I know there is no library in the commoner's district." his arms reached out to her, wrapping themselves around her torso. "I am not sure why you always feel the need to fib to me. It is as though you're scared. Tell me the truth if you will, secrets do not build relationships I'm sure you're aware."

  
She laughed nervously, setting her head against him.

  
"Right, right..." she trailed off. "There is the playwright in the upper district, you see; he gets me oft to read his plays to tell him if they are stories sufficient to entertain an audience for an hour or so..."

  
She witnessed his eyes brighten.

  
"Hmm." he observed. "That wasn't quite as difficult as breaking open a walnut now, was it?"

  
She laughed softly along with him.

 


	18. Interference

The thunder boomed.

  
The thunder screamed to her that night, just a few hours later, trailing dinner. She had shed her day clothes, now dressed in the silk gown of Romeo's mother. It was then, when the thunder flashed through the large window on her wall, she saw herself in a mirror standing at her side.

  
The thunder boomed more so. And when it boomed, there was lightening.

  
The lightening allowed her to see herself in the mirror as she gazed curiously. She saw brown eyes, deep brown, brown eyes which were hard, filled with a will of steel. Yes, Juliet was a particularly strong willed girl, it was there doubt was not welcomed. When she was on a mission, Juliet was bound to finish it.

  
She remembered she was on a mission.

  
Those brown eyes.

  
The thunder.

  
They all screamed one word:

  
Capulet.

  
Conrad had told her not too long ago, a day or so after her sixteenth birthday, about the fateful night which was the night which would usher the death of the reign and house of Capulet. The night that declared her orphan, without a mother, without a father, without brothers, without aunts, without uncles, without forefathers, without cousins, without nieces and nephews. The night of Capulet's demise, according to Conrad, was just as this night. Thundering, lightening; engulfed in flames thanks to a lightening rod Montague had so meticulously placed on the roof of the castle.

  
The lightening rained down, Conrad said, as they flew away atop steeds. The steeds were spooked, nearly losing control, but sheer will was what kept them in the skies, flying away to a land of sanctuary. Strong will was what kept her alive, first in her grounded loyalists, second in her eyes.

  
Montague took her family, those who loved her so. Montague was her enemy, whether she liked it or not. She had already grown attached to his only child, his son, Romeo. She was a fool to let herself do such so easily. She had to cut the weed while opportunity lingered. She had to. Not just for the sake of those who've risked their lives for her sake, but for those who've lost their lives for her sake. She couldn't disrespect them so horribly by making their endeavors for naught.   
She and Antonio set out to kill the Archduke. It was time she finished it all. End his reign of wickedness and selfishness. Of lies and hatred. Of anger. Of wrath.

  
"Montagues no more. Montagues no more. On the day of lore when The Rose is gored, there'll be Montagues no more."

  
She wept bitterly as she sung. She sung as she rummaged through drawer for something, anything, that would suffice as a weapon. Anything she would not wish driven through her throat.

  
The thunder approved then she discovered an envelope opener inside her nightstand. It would work, so thought she and the thunder. Everything the Archduke had done to her, as plain ol' Juliet, was so kind, so loving, so gentle... She was pained to return it with such a gesture. She had to though. She must. She valued her house, her loved ones, more than him. He should understand, seeing as how dear he holds his sweet mother. Perhaps she shall do him a favor by reuniting him with her...  
Juliet departed from her room. She walked across the wide, eerie hall, listening as thunder clapped her on. It cheered for her, watching from the sidelines. As she approached the grand double doors which was the gate to his room, she tucked the envelope opener into the gown she wore. The gown wasn't hers. It was she mother's of the boy she was about to kill. What 'respect' she had. What 'dignity.' What wickedness.

  
The pair of guards standing post did not see it, the envelope opener. They only saw a red headed girl in a simple night gown approaching them. They recognized her, for they'd seen her all over the place with the Archduke earlier that day. They witnessed him hold her, scrutinizing every man that payed her a glance, running his fingers gently through her locks as though they were his. Of course, they thought nothing of it when she drew near them, asking for entrance into the chambers of the Archduke. Of course, since they had been given permission earlier in the night to allow her, they did not decline her entering. The doors shut quietly behind her. The thunder bellowed in laughter. Her hands began to shake. She thought of each face of her loyalists, even the ones she did not know, like those she saw in the Capulet graveyard the night of her sixteenth birthday, how they chanted her name, their pledge. The memory made her lips part, then utter to herself:

  
_"Let it be... Let it be... Beneath the Iris banner, let it be..."_

  
Her footsteps were light against the tile, her flesh slapping it lightly. They took her to the side of his great, mighty bed, upon which there was a hoard of blankets rustling recklessly. His breath was heavy, not snoring with peace. He must have slept this way, similar to Conrad. Yes. That must be the case.

  
She lay eyes upon his head facing away from her, resting on the pillow on the very center of the mattress. She lay eyes upon the back of his neck. On the other side of that neck, there was a throat. His throat would wear a bullseye.

  
The thunder laughed again.

  
It watched as she brought her hand back into the gown. That same hand withdrew the blade. It shined under the moonlight peeking in through the window. The moon showed quiet with heavy another of interest, just as the thunder. They both thought it was fitting. And hilarious.

  
Her hand hovered over to the boy. It floated over his neck, the blade just over the top of his throat. She was ready. She was going to do it. She could. It would all be over so quickly. So soon. It was within her leisurely grasp... Yet it was so, so, so hard to do so. She couldn't, even though she could. She wanted to wail, then throw the object across the room. She knew she couldn't do it. She'd grown too attached to the boy, so accustomed to his lips on hers, to hear his sweet little words of devotion, those legitimately happy smiles he gave when seeing her. She couldn't do it.

  
The thunder grew furious at her stalling. It brewed up the heaviest shout it could imagine. It released it. And when it did, momentarily unbeknownst to Juliet, Romeo's eyes snapped open. From Romeo came a scream, not just a mere distressed scream, but a bloodcurdling scream. Horrified, Juliet retreated her hand... And a spotless blade yet to lick crimson.

  
He screamed, throwing himself from his bed, tangled in the blankets. He hit the floor abruptly. He screamed again, louder, his hands on his head, nails burrowing into his flesh. He ran straight into the wall. He screamed with the thunder. He kicked the wall. He bashed his head on the wall. Over. And over. And over. He punched it. He shouted. Knocked over many articles. Then finally, he started to whimper as he sank to his knees, retracting his blood covered nails so that they kiss the floor. He weakly crawled his way over to his corner. The darkest corner in the room. He sat himself there, back turned to her and everything else, whimpering, sniffling, sobbing.

  
Slowly, she rose from her safety place, the other side of his bed, then spied upon him, her nose barely touching the top of blankets. She shuddered horrifically, watching as he sat still in the corner, his face buried his his hands. Her ears listened as he wept. There was not a thing she knew how to do besides breathe, then slowly reach her hand beneath the bed, where she prepared to hide the blade.

  
The slight metallic click against the tile brought his head up, a gasp of fear sounding from him. He looked around fearfully, his breathing quick.

  
"Who here trespasses?" he growled.

  
Quietly, she rose to her feet innocently.

  
"It... It is only I; Juliet. Please... There is no need to be afraid..."

  
She watched him as he turned his head around to her, gazing at her skin highlighted by moonlight. Her eyes were wide like a spotless child, her hands wrapped around her chest defensively, staring back at him with horror. Almost immediately, the Archduke gasped, his hands darting to his lips, worry branding his face. Quivering, he brought himself up, his legs wobbling, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  
"Oh Juliet..." he murmured pitifully. "M-My sincerest apologies. It was not within my awareness you were here paying audience to me. Oh I heavily apologize. Oh I do. For you to have seen me like this..." his eyes fell on his fingernails wet with blood. "Good heavens. Good heavens... The second night in a row for you to have witness me shed tears and act so coarse as though I've no identity besides that of a caged animal."

  
"Nay. Nay, please do not beat yourself into shame..." she decided to walk around the bed, daring to ease closer to his corner. She drew closer. And closer. And the closer she became, the further the Iris banner was from her concerns. Soon, the entire reservoir of love came flooding back into her, urging her to place either of her hands upon either of his cheeks, to run her thumbs over his trembling cheek bones. "Another nightmare I presume is the culprit..."

  
His palms came to meet hers, laying on top of them. A quivering sigh sounded from him, a few tears more leaving his eyes, his lips shaking in fear. He nodded stiffly, then slid his hands down her arms, snaked down to her shoulders, then tugged her in gently for an embrace.

  
"Indeed." he sobbed. "Another one. Again. They refuse to halt their traffic into my mind, regardless of my many endeavors otherwise."

  
She stood a while more, allowing him to cling to her, burying his face in her neck. She loved it. She loved it very much. She loved it so much, it made her forget why she was there in his room in the first place. To have the Archduke of Neo Verona, the most powerful man all the country, before her, holding her as she provided him sanctuary... It streamed syrup into her tummy, warm syrup which puffed her eyes red with love and swell her breast with longing.

  
Undeniably, she was still in love, and it was that love that drove her to let her lips part as he clung to her.

  
"You had no such troubles our previous night, the night you spent in the bed I stayed in. Shall I stay with you tonight as well to keep your mind at ease?"

  
"Nay." he replied almost instantly, almost interrupting. "As you said, temptation would demand our bodies be joined. We cannot. Not while the moon is in the sky. The moon is sinister and drives man to do things he should not." his embrace tightened. "Please. It will be dangerous. I shall be fine, for it is these nightmares I put up with so often..."

  
He paused curiously when her hands slid down his face, down to his neck, down the hills of his sculpted chest, to his torso, which she wrapped her arms around, returning his grip. He took it with a relieved huff. However, it did not remain this way forever, before long, after another shout from the thunder, those same hands of hers snaked over to her back, where she took his wrists, then pried them off of her. At first, this alarmed him mildly, seeing that it was as if she no longer wished his arms around her. But after a moment, his fear dwindled into another bit of curiosity. Holding only one wrist, she gently led him back to his bed, which she pat, ushering him atop.

  
"Lay." she commanded peacefully. There was no room for him to argue; he climbed aboard, sat, then gazed at her through his red puffy eyes. She frowned after a moment. "Lay." she commanded again. Finally, he gave in, then allowed his back to come crashing down on the mattress, his head beating one of the many pillows bordering the top of the bed. Juliet smiled sweetly in victory before gathering the wad of blankets from the ground, where she then proceeded to lay them neatly on top of him one by one. The articles which had fallen were recovered next, starting from his nightstand, then to the robe which had fallen from its hook on the wall, then the many nicknacks which were once atop his dresser. He watched her the entire time, watching how her body moved, watching how she replaced each item, watching as her hands treated them with respect.

  
Once she was finished, she gazed back over at him, prepared to return. She crawled on top of his mighty bed, pawed her way next to him, then welcomed herself beneath the mountain of blankets, where she curled next to him. He offered a word of resistance, only to be shushed, shushed into allowing one of her legs to swing over and wrap around his hip, allowing her breast to press firmly against his own, allowing her nose to brush against what once was her target for the envelope opener; his throat.

  
"There now." she cooed. "Quite cozy, do you think not? I shall fend you of nightmares as you sleep, my Romeo. Fret not."   
He flushed, then sniffed from grief one last time.

  
"My Juliet..."

  
He planted his gratitude on her lips.

 


	19. For the Sake of Revenge

Juliet was not omniscient. That was why, while she was off doing something else during the days in which she was "trapped" in the castle (bathing for example), she was not aware the Archduke, her precious lover who shouldn't have been her precious lover, was sitting alone, regardless of where he was. He was, as always, allowing the cogs in his mind to grind against one another, generating ideas and thoughts and aspirations inspired by grief or joy. He was the type that was always thinking. Thinking about what? Many things. On this day in particular... It was sinister. Now, rest assured, it was nothing sinister in regards to Juliet, his precious lover, but rather in regards to someone else. A certain group of boys, who were now men, living somewhere in the commoner's quarters.

  
One of the many places in which the Archduke's faults lie: even though he has never been more content in life with Juliet by his side, moon or sun, Romeo still wanted that sickeningly sweet thing known as revenge. Revenge for what? Something. Something bad. Bad in his eyes in the very least.

  
When his dear Juliet had momentarily departed from is side when she entered his bath to clean herself that morning, he leaving her be, the Archduke found himself in the throne room, prepared to execute royal commands. Cerimon had appeared inside the courts moments after he was summoned, his back stiff and his fists clutched at his side. He approached the boy, kneeling before him, dipping his head in humbleness.

  
"Your Majesty." he began. "I was summoned?"

  
Mercurio stood at the throne's side, curiously eyeing the boy; it was obvious, he wanted to know the reason why. A top to bottom search of the city for the Red Whirlwind? Enact a new law? Raise or lower food prices? For heaven's sake, what?   
The Archduke shut his eyes.

  
"Indeed, you were." he murmured. "I've a job for you and the royal guard."

  
"Of course, Your Highness, what shall we carry out for you?"

  
"I want seven specific men captured and brought to before me so that I may bring them punishment."

  
And, such an order was carried out. Who would dare argue with the Archduke? None, for many were wiser than such. Later that day, as Francisco walked at the side of Curio along the streets of the commoner's district, bags of groceries in hand, the two chatted, unaware of the events which would soon arrive.

  
"Confound it." Curio grumbled. "Paying visits to the market. This is not our job. It is Antonio's! Why the devil isn't he down her carrying these bags instead of us? We've more important things to be doing."

  
"Now, now, remember Curio." Francisco laughed to his friend. "Antonio is not in the lightest of spirits as of now. Juliet was quite a friend to him I'm sure you recall..."

  
"Oh pardon me. I was never made aware of the fact that having the misfortune of low spirits is now considered an excuse not to work." he scoffed, shutting his single eye. "If that be the case, I must ask you to carry my bags in my stead; I am in ill spirits as of now, seeing that our Archduchess has been kidnapped by her archenemy."

  
Francisco rolled his eyes, smirking.

  
"Ah, Curio; a comedian in disguise."

  
"Fool! That was no jest!"

  
"Oh truly? I found it quite laugh worthy."

  
"Wherefore be it that I did not hear a single chortle?"

  
"Did you not see the smile upon my lips?"

  
"You..."

  
"I...?"

  
The froze when they passed by the square, where they saw a crowd gathered around, all shouting, all screaming, throwing pieces of anything from cloth to metal. The crowd's feet stormed all over the cobblestone ground, their roars mighty, their fists shaking in the air. Their shouts were not distinguishable thanks to their numbers, but one thing was obvious; they were angry, angrier than a beaten hornet's nest. Curious, and concerned, the two halted their bickering, then watched from afar, their jaws gaping open.

  
"Heavens." Francisco breathed. "What force of the devil could possibly create such an uproar?"

  
"The second closest thing to the devil:" Curio replied. "The Carabinieri."

  
Sure enough, Curio was correct. From the riot, armed with spears and blades, plowed members of the guard, but not just any members, among them was their captain, Cerimon. They towed a man along with them, to their surprise, a man who was not a member of the guard, rather a normal commoner boy preparing to take his leap into manhood. He was rather browny, yet weak in the hold of the Carabinieri, pitifully going along with them, a spear blade to his back.

  
Francisco felt a brow anchor down his face, his grip on the bags in his hands tightening.

  
"Why, that young man there... He looks just like the son of the smith, Arturo..."

  
Soon, they came to discover that the string of Carabinieri was simply a part of a parade. Many more plowed their way out of the angry crowd which demanded they took their leave; in their tow were many more young men of similar age as the first prisoner.

  
"And that one..." Curio murmured, referring to the second they laid eyes upon. "He shares the looks of Francesco, the son of the butcher..."

  
"And Luigi, the son of the tunesmith."

  
Four prisoners more followed, their faces they failed to recognize, but their concern for them the same. Francisco could not help but frown, allowing fury to build up inside him, his teeth grinding against one another.

  
"Just what does that blasted Archduke want with these men? Based on the looks on their faces, they seem as though they are on their way to certain death!"

  
Curio simply shook his head.

  
"Nothing good, friend. Come. Let us make our way to the theatre and hasten the production of our plans to free Juliet from that boy's presence before she too bares a similar expression."

  
Juliet already was baring such an expression, for she, fresh out of a bath, peered into the throne room behind the shield of a door located at the very back wall. She saw the rear of the throne, upon which Romeo sat. He gazed down at seven young men lined horizontally before him, resting on their knees, their wrists bound by shackles behind their backs. The Carabinieri bordered both sides of the carpet which would lead to the Archduke. He did not seem happy.

  
The boy rose from his mighty chair, his cold green eyes watching; the others fearfully watched him back. He paced before them very slowly, almost unrecognizable as a pace. His hands rested behind his back, though not shackled. This was why he took comfort in it. His frown grew grim.

  
"Fair cockcrow." he whispered. "It is nice to see you again, my dear friends."

  
One young man, Arturo, the leader of his pack of friends in the days of their youth, allowed his head to sink.

  
"Friends." he echoed. "You were never a friend of ours, Montague boy."

  
A smile crept across the Archduke's lips.

  
"I am not simply your 'Montague boy' anymore, Arturo. I am no longer the puny thing who would occasionally request to play ball along with you and your gang as he wandered the streets. Shall I remind you? I am Archduke. Speak to me as such." he gave him a swift, yet powerful, kick to the stomach, sending him to his back, a moan escaping the young man's lips. The Archduke watched him lay there, just as the others, his eyes narrowing. "Bring yourself up. You dare call yourself a man."

  
The other men watched him, spite filling in their eyes. Romeo saw this, though said nothing. Instead he stepped away from Arturo, who struggled to bring himself back up, pain written all over his face. Quietly after, the boy eyed them all, his body stiff.

  
"I have called you up here in my castle today because of a dream I conceived last night. Quite horrifying I'll have you all know. I was alone, just as I have always been for the longest of time, when all of a sudden, the lot of you came at me baring knives and stones. But you did not stab nor pelt me, but rather someone who stood before me; my mother. You brought her to her end, ignoring my calls for you to stop. And you all did not stop there, you then went on to kill another woman that is precious to me..." he blinked, the gazed with his glassy eyes. "When I awoke, I was reminded of the things you all had done to me; the way you mocked me, snared me, beat me with your fists or sticks... Oh, I had planned on forgetting such deed upon taking the throne, but I remembered a thought I had had to myself; if you had known better, that I would someday sit upon the throne, why did you bother to put yourself on such horrid grounds with me? You all must lavish punishment."

  
"So." another brave soul dared to speak up. "You summoned us here so that you may punish us for a crime we committed in a dream?"

  
At that instant, the Archduke grew a scowl.

  
"Perhaps I shall punish you for not listening to me. I have brought you here before me so that I shall punish you for the things you did to me when we were still little boys... After all, the one thing my father lived by which I found myself agreeing with was his philosophy of eye for an eye." he brought his hand up, then gave a snap. At that instant, Cerimon approached him, a sheath in hand, kneeled before him, then presented the prize. Slowly, he took it without any hassle, then held it in his hand, gazing at the young men with a frown. "I do not understand why I was so mistreated by the lot of you. What ever did I do unto you that would cause you to hate me so?"

  
"Your father was a man that splurged himself on whores and wine every night while his country starved and suffered." another young man raised his voice, defensively joining with the other.

  
"So I was subject to the blame and hate for being my father's son?"

  
"Indeed! You are no different, Montague! Kill us all, but mark my words, your reign shall end with blood so shall I curse!"   
The room fell silent. The members of the guard, men who listened, but did not turn an eye to the boy at the thrown, cringed, exchanging pitiful glances, fearing what would come next. Cerimon, subject to a similar reaction, dared to peer up to the boy, his brows furrowed with worry, hoping that mercy would be shed. But most striking of all, there was Juliet, standing hidden in the back doorway, watching a wide pair of eyes, her mouth gaping open in shock.

  
To the room's surprise, however, instead of fits of rage from such an insult, the Archduke stood still until there was a rumble in his throat. That rumble grew louder, louder and louder until he finally allowed his lips to part, ridding himself of laughter. His hand clutched his forehead, his mouth open wide, gasping for air, tears building at the brim of his eyes, the clutch on the loaded sheath tightening.

  
"Truly now?" he bellowed in laughter. "Such a shame I say... To see so many capable young men go to waste." he shed the blade from its holder, which he threw to the side. "I vowed I would punish all who wronged me upon taking my throne, yet I planned to shed mercy upon the lot of you should you suddenly have a change of heart and simply apologize..." he approached them, specifically Arturo. "It hurts, do you not see?" a tear of laughter rolled down his cheeks. "To live your whole life simply wishing for an apology..." he grabbed the swords hilt by both hands, then raised it over the man's head. "I suppose I shall never receive such a thing..."

  
"Romeo!"

  
She dashed from the door all the way across the courts, aiming straight towards him. The guards gasped, the prisoners gazed in shock... But Romeo... He stood still, allowing her to reach her hands up to his wrists, preventing the blade from cascading down to the man's head. She dared to set her head against him, shivering in fear, her grip tight and urgent. That same head shook over and over again.

  
"Romeo, Romeo, leave these men be. Kill them not for a wrong they committed so long ago. Have compassion for them; they've families to worry about and families to worry about them. Let not your anger drive you to commit actions you know you should not commit! Refrain yourself, I beg thee!"

  
He was still, gazing at the men angrily before he allowed his arm muscles to relax. She let that arm down slowly, the tip of the blade scraping across the floor before he loosely dropped the hilt, allowing it to cling against the tile. The men watched in awe, yet at the same time, relief.

  
"Mercy." he murmured. "You want mercy shed upon these men..."

  
"Yea." she embraced him softly, her head nodding slowly, yet urgently. "Leave them please, Romeo..."

  
Another era of silence embarked its journey amongst the room, the Archduke shutting his eyes gently. He returned the embrace halfway, wrapping an arm around her torso before he reopened his gaze, where he stared down at the crimson carpet beneath his feet. He heaved a heavy sigh before slowly nodding his head.

  
"As you wish..." he whispered.

  
However, at that moment, one of the prisoners raised his head, gazing at the Archduke slyly before feeling a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He voiced exactly what the others were thinking. He shouldn't have. He was a fool. A fool and nothing but.

  
"Ah..." he admired playfully. "I appears our Archduke has found himself a lovely. What a shame, young woman, to see such a beautiful thing such as yourself go to waste. Do not give yourself to a boy like him, dear. You are worth so much more." a sly chuckle followed.

  
...But the moment the Archduke heard of it, his pupils shrunk. Gently, he took Juliet off of him, beckoned Cerimon to hold her, then kneeled to retrieve his blade. It all happened so quickly; Juliet was bound by the hands of a gentle, yet forceful, Cerimon, watching as blood was spilled, staining the already red carpet and the once so lovely tile. The Archduke's shiny blade was soon bound to rust from the crimson paint covering its tip.

  
Juliet did not speak to him for the rest of the day, even during supper, which crawled slowly by like a skinless snake. She would take her fork to her mouth, chew slowly, then swallow. It was steak she was eating, one of her favorite meats, which meant she should have been more than happy to shovel into her mouth. It's flavor was beyond compare to Cordelia's, as much as she hated to admit it; it was wonderful, a treat she thought.

  
Yet not a single bone in her body would not allow her to enjoy it. Not when she found that boy sitting across from her each time she looked up. One time, their eyes met; brown on green. He smiled gently at her, watching as she ate slowly.

  
"It is a joy to see a woman that loves her meats." he murmured, gazing over the candle light amongst his dark room. "They are few in numbers nowadays, the rest only dine on their vegetables. They will not grow strong muscles eating only vegetables, now, would they?"

  
She did not answer, rather forced herself to keep her head down, watching as the steak grew smaller and smaller as time passed. By the time the grandfather clock had chimed eight times, she had set her fork down, leaving only two bites of meat left on her plate. The backs of her legs pushed her seat back as she stood, her hands holding one another gently over her waist.

  
"I shall eat no longer." she said blandly. "And my eyelids demand I put myself to bed. Tonight I choose to rest in the quarters you have designated for me rather than your bed if you please. I beg you not be upset due to my decision."

  
Just as she proceeded to take her leave, The Archduke stood from his seat, than rushed over to her, quick to set a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  
"Hear now." he murmured. "Your behavior is quite outlandish. Wherefore?"

  
"Never you mind. I am sleepy." she attempted to continue on, yet stopped when his grip tightened.

  
"Juliet." he whispered softly, yet with a pinch of sternness. He drew her to turn around and gaze into her eyes, never exactly forcing her. "You are startled. I can see it in your eyes, for their pupils have grown tiny, and the spark in their irises have faded..." he sighed. "It is those young men from earlier, is it not?"

  
She took his hand on her shoulder, then pried it off. This shook him, as shown by his expression, which had changed dramatically. Her face grew dark all of a sudden, her eyes slanting as they directed themselves to the floor. Her body quivered with fury.

  
"You slaughtered them in cold blood as though they were animals raised to butcher. You show no remorse. No respect."

  
"There is a respectable reason why I committed such an act. I committed such an act so that-"

  
"It is because one of them dared to open their mouths to voice words of hate! He spoke unto you words that no man should ever take pleasure in hearing! That I deserve more than a boy by the name of Montague! That I am wasting myself! You! You, the one so offended with his polished ego torn to shreds, could not refrain himself from punishing he that damaged your pride so hoarsely! You! Such an action is no different than an action your father would commit!"

  
The room fell silent, and ever so slowly, The Archduke backed away from her, his head hanging in shame. Surprised, yet angered, Juliet watched, wondering what is was that he would do. She watched as he glided away, acting as though she were not standing in his chambers, eventually leading himself to his special corner. He stood there, his face buried in his hands, sounds of weeping echoing throughout the tall walls of the room as he grew still and unmoving. She too stood still.

  
"Francesco was correct, sweet Juliet." his tone whispered from the corner, thick with sorrow. "You deserve so much more than what this horrid wretch could dare to offer. I am wretched. I am Montague with Montague blood flowing through my veins. I am a bastard." he peered over his shoulder, gazing at her from a distance. "But when a young, lovely woman approaches me with love in her eyes... I cannot bare to bring myself to remain idle when a threat comes storming her way. I must do something to protect she that is so precious. She has given me something I've so coveted for so long..."

  
"Protection." she echoed stiffly. "I beg your pardon."

  
"Juliet, my love." he sniffed. "You have hurt me greatly, comparing my actions to my father's, saying that I am no different. My heart beats, but loses blood with each pump. It burns so, my love, this place in my chest. I want it to stop... But never could I bring myself to harm one such as you, even when you do such a thing to me. I did not kill those men because they damaged my ego. You should know by now there is no ego in me to damage, for they had already done the honors of ridding it from me so long ago. Those men had discovered I considered you my lovely, Juliet, and that placed you in a position of great danger. Those men hated me ever so. When the time comes in which I deem it safe for you to return to your home in the commoner's district, where those men would roam, they will find you sometime or another, and once they do, they will do things unto you I would not dare dream of. You would tell me then after, but it would then be too late, and I would have spent my entire life reminding myself there was something I could have done to stop it."

  
Even through the anger, the cloud which had her vision embossed and blurry, she listened to him, slowly beginning to believe the words he said. He sounded so honest and kind as he spoke; he sounded forceful and defensive, as though he was so desperate to make sure she knew his reasons. It almost sounded as though he had a hint of remorse as well. Even so, she was reluctant to approach him closely as though he were a dangerous animal in his cage. Rather, she stood just a ways from him, watching as he pressed his back into his corner harder and harder. His eyes were pitiful and dark, desperately trying to escape. Escape what though? She did not know.

  
"You." she broke a silence which had set in between the two of them. "I do not see a better time to ask this than now; have I permission to inquire of you?"

  
"Always." he whispered, those sad eyes sinking to the ground. "You may always ask what you like of me, even if it upsets me... For I shall never lash out in anger towards you."

  
"Answer me then; by the tip of your blade, how many men have you brought that their end?"

  
The silence returned. The Archduke's head turned away, and his back pressed itself against the corner harder, his feet sliding against the ground in attempt to further himself. His breathing slowed, eyes dulling, daring not to gaze at her, his hands tightly grabbing his thighs.

  
"...Eight." he whispered. "Eight men."

  
"And your first?" her brows furrowed. "It is your father, is it not? The man who you brought to his end before Arturo and his pack?" he nodded hesitantly. "And you look as though you feel no remorse for such an act. Wherefore, fiend? Surely even the worst and most wretched of villains have felt remorse for murder."

  
He leashed his gaze and tugged it away from her.

  
"My father was an awful man, I'm sure you are already aware of such. I'm sure you do not disagree."

  
"Never were you given the right to murder him in cold blood."

  
"I had every right." he growled. "He drove me to the brink of insanity. The things he did to me, the things he said to me... They are unimaginable and sickening. The scars he inflicted on the country are scars that cannot be washed nor healed. I struck him down knowing what I was doing; there was a man that was evil, and that evil man needed to be riddled of, lest his evil would spread further across the land and infect the lives of many more."

  
She allowed her fists to clench.

  
"So," she began. "You don't feel a lick of remorse."

  
"Nay." his head rose. "I've told you, have you not listened? Dreams plague my mind each and every night, many of which involve my late father. Do I feel remorse? A slight bit, only because he was my father, the man I am supposed to love and look up to... I have him mixed up with different people; I've seen fathers, good fathers, and always coveted them, envious of their families. I have always wanted to love my father. I have tried so hard. Even today, I still wonder: had I never brought him to his end, would he treat me like his son the way other fathers did? Have I doomed all hope of being loved by him? I do not know, and there are days I weep, for I want nothing but to have him to rise and come back to me so that I may try again to be a better son. No such thing could ever occur, though, such I'm aware."

  
She frowned, her head sunk, and her fingers began to fondle the hem of her gown's sleeve. Momentarily, she looked away, her bare toes rubbing against the surface of the tile beneath. A sigh escaped her lips.

  
"Even so..." she whispered. "To kill a man in such a manner, whether he be cruel or not..."

  
"I am sure you know of the work of the devil he carried out." he whispered. "He slaughtered the entire house of Capulet. For what? For greed. To take the throne as his own and abuse his position, spending his days drinking and gorging himself on whores. Justice had to take its course, lest the entire nation be doomed to hell. I do not like to paint myself as any kind of hero, but I oft consider my actions acts of sacrifice, for I condemned my life to a life flooded with prejudice and hate among my peers by killing him." he narrowed his eyes. "Now there lingers a reason for all to hate me. What an abomination, the boy who slaughtered his own father. And look; he attempted to throw the local butcher into the fire, to have him take responsibility for his actions and crimes so that he may save his precious hide from uprising." tears poured out of them, streaming down his face. "Do you know how loathed my name is in this country? If you are a commoner, you should be more than aware, for everyday, they mock my name and spit at the sight of my face. They have done this since I was little, when my mother and Cielo still roamed the earth. Wherefore? Wherefore do they despise the name of Montague so? To them what had I done wrong? Wherefore is it that a young boy, without meat on his bones and shivering in the cold, be seen as such a threat that they would not allow him near their homes and keep him from their tables to eat? That mothers would pull their children away when he came wandering into their yards requesting to play? That kitchens for the poor would finally find their exceptions? That people he never even knew of come to beat him senseless as he roamed the streets? What did he do to receive such a treatment? Nothing but simply bear the blasted name of his father, the man whom which it was illegal to plot against! They instead chose to release their wrath on his child, for they knew his father never gave a damn! He did not care! He allowed them to do whatever they pleased and felt no remorse for sitting, downing his wine as his son wept at his feet, explaining the horrors that had struck him that day!" amongst the fumes rising from him, his fists clenched at his side, he released one final snarl: "I beg you, say unto me once more that I had no right to kill him. Let me laugh. Let me chortle. Let me taste the taste of it, for it has been a long while."

  
After a while of gazing, Juliet finally decided to let a breath escape her mouth, her hands trembling terribly in front of her. She remained calm, however; she decided to pretend, to pretend she was dressed in the clothes of the heroic Red Whirlwind, the one who knew no fear. Yes. She was the embodiment of Justice, the Red Whirlwind.

  
"You change colors quickly, chameleon." she murmured. "Weeping one moment, lost to fury the next... I was wrong to lead myself to believe you were a young man so calm and collected." she began to back away. "I shall stand by my original decision; you will cool, and I shall rest alone in the chambers designated for me. Hopefully, when we rouse in the morning, you will be in a better mood."

  
As she began to take her leave, The Archduke did not open his mouth to offer opposition. He stood in his corner, allowing his head to sink, breathing heavily, trembling as well. He listened as her feet, barren of shoes, quietly slapped against the tiles as she grew closer and closer to the door. He did not stop the streams which continued down his face.

  
"As you wish." he murmured. The only thing was, she was no longer there to hear.


	20. The Joy of a Beast

The birds were chirping that day, singing happily, perched on branches of trees, some even on the roof of the quaint gazebo in the heart of the hedge maze. Beneath its shelter, hiding from the sun, who was out to burn their skin, sat the two of them at the bench, chatting lightly. A bowl of cherries rested in his lap, subject to the occasional thievish hands of Juliet and himself. It did not seem to mind, for it did not argue, nor grow angry... Not that a bowl could do such a thing anyhow.

  
Spirits were lighter now, for the two giggled every now and then. Why, they sounded rather devious, all for unknown reasons. Nothing was happening besides the two offering cherries to one another's mouths, fishing out their pebble-like seeds, then placing them back in the bowl. This act struck Juliet as odd moments ago when they first began eating, for she saw him carelessly throw the seed back, mingling with the cherries yet to be eaten. She gazed up at him curiously, recalling times in which she and Antonio would share a bowl of cherries and how either one of them would chew the other out should they dare to replace the spit-covered seed.

  
"Romeo." she grabbed his attention. "How unsanitary, putting the seed back inside the bowl rather than simply tossing it into the dirt."

  
He smiled.

  
"Thou jest." he said, chipper. "I suppose I shall no longer place my lips upon yours henceforth. As you know, my lips have been assaulted by my tongue throughout the day when they grow dry."

  
He knew she liked to have him kiss her; such is why he was so quick to bring it up, then convince her to throw the seeds back inside. Eventually, she caught on, forming herself to fit inside the groove of the pattern they'd created. It wasn't quite as bad as she made it out to be, such as why the aura remained light and cloudy. Yes, it was best described as like a cloud, for it was soft and gentle, almost dreamy. It persuaded them to forget the events of a few night ago, which was their first argument, the night her ears had first laid upon his tone when it was angry and rash. It was momentary bliss.

  
"Sweet Romeo." she murmured, setting her temple upon his unmoving shoulder. "I've an inquiry."

  
"I see." he replied softly, offering another piece of fruit to her. "And what might such be?"

  
"I would like to know why-"

  
Shuttering in the hedges made them both pause suddenly, bringing both of their relaxed heads up. The Archduke, once sitting contently, looked around, his eyes alert and cold; it was as if they changed in just a matter of a moment. He set the bowl aside, then rose to his feet, surveying the area; in a moment's worth, they both found the source of the noise: part of a hedge rustled, its leaves shaking, calling, applauding like a crowd. But before either of them could do something about it, there emerged a face from the lower part of the bush: a little pink nose, big, curious, eyes yellow as a moon in its prime, straight and playful whiskers, pointed ears standing tall and alert, dark brown hairs mixed with whites and creams filling in all its blanks. As they two gazed at it, it gave them a quick, high pitched greeting, inviting a smile to Juliet's lips.

  
"What a pleasant surprise." she cooed. "A feline!" when she rose with intentions to meet it, however, he placed a hand on her shoulder, his face stiff as it gazed upon the animal with prejudice.

  
"Do not go to it." he murmured stiffly. "It may be rabid."

  
The mouser did not look the slightest bit rabid.

  
"He seems quite healthy and tame." Juliet observed, watching it as it pulled itself from the bushes. The animal kept its eyes curiously on the two, stretching its paws out to them as it drew closer. "See how nice his fur is? And how plump? Not a hint of whiteness gathers at his lips, and its eyes remain large and round. Thou jest, calling it rabid."

  
The cat found itself next to his unwavering legs, purring, rubbing itself softly against his shins as it circled about him, its tail erect, mewing. She giggled before reaching down and wrapping her fingers softly around its torso, then picked its fluffy body up, having no problems.

  
"Look at him, sweet. He is a cute thing, tame as well. He likes to be held and pet, listen to him purr." she grinned. "Can we call him our own?"

  
He gazed at her, his eyes dulling, loosing the spark in his pupils. Eventually, he sat himself back down, watching the cat; its eyes were shut tight, purring in her lap as he stroked him from head to tail. Its little paws placed against one another politely, its tail sticking up in content.

  
"Our own..." he whispered.

  
"Indeed. A pet? Please?" she peered into his eyes. "Wherefore do you hold an unsteady expression, sweet?"

  
He remained quiet, even as he set a pair of fingers atop the mouser's head, where he began to rub. He blinked, then sighed.

  
"Animals do not live as long as we do." he said lowly. "I would hate to one day see you upset because his time with us has ended."

  
Her gaze softened and, with one hand stroking the cat sitting in her lap, she placed a palm on his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

  
"This is about Cielo." she murmured. "Isn't it?"

  
His gaze fled.

  
"Part of it." he replied. "The loss of a loved one is a difficult thing to cope with I'm sure you are aware..."

  
"God put animals here on this earth for us to enjoy." she smiled. "Besides, when the times comes when he takes his leave, I shall have your shoulder to cry on. You shall be there for me, will you not?"

  
Silence set in between the two of them, his eyes, already dark, growing darker. They seemed distant. Sad.

  
"Of course I will be there." he took the hand resting on his shoulder. Then, he paused in hesitation, a frown on his face. His eyes wandered away. "Very well then. We shall keep him. That is only under one condition: you name him."

  
And so they kept the cat, the cat whom Juliet coined Arpeggio. Arpeggio was a lazy little thing, so lazy that he did not bother to wrestle out of Juliet's arms as they trekked down the halls. Rather, he remained, his eyes snugly shut with purrs. Even when he was brought to The Archduke's chambers, alien territory, he did not bother to get up and explore. He laid between the two of them on the bed, purring, his tail swishing back and forth. She watched him quietly, stroking his belly back and forth. The Archduke lay asleep on the other side of the mouser, eyes lightly shut, a frown printed across his lips.

  
Juliet had always figured that sleep was supposed to make one seem relaxed, especially when all those close to her, Antonio for example, always looked strung out in sleep. Cordelia, the working woman always on her feet and always using her hands, never looked so tired at the end of the day, and never looked so peaceful than when she lay in her bed. Sleep was a beautiful thing, a beautiful thing what was supposed to be refreshing.

  
But, for a lack of better words, when The Archduke slept, he oft appeared to be dead.

  
He was not dead, however, as proven when his hand slowly reached towards hers. The motion startled her at first, having been under the pretense that no such thing would occur, but was quick to relax when he gently placed that hand on top of hers, which lay gently upon little Arpeggio. His thumb stroked hers in a manner one would expect from a sleeping puppeteer, even so, though, it brought a smile to her lips. Arpeggio wouldn't have it, though; two hands of weight was too much on his belly, such caused his eyes to snap open, then, with his claws unsheathed, he began pawing at the roof of The Archduke's palm. No skin was broken, thank goodness, but Juliet didn't leave time to spare before she took the cat's paws, then held them down.

  
"Oh bother." she murmured. "No, no, Arpeggio; Romeo I doubt takes well to animals that claw him. Show respect, can you not?"

  
"Cats do not know what respect is. Let the cat be a cat..." she eyed The Archduke, watching as his eyes slowly slid open. "They are not the smartest of beasts that roam the land."

  
"He is a cute thing, however." she replied with a giggle as they brought their hands from the cat's wrestling body. "But of course, not quite as intelligent."

  
"And even so, you flock to him." he smiled easily. "He has not even been here with us for a day and I am already envious of the hairball. What a lucky thing; he is born so adorable he does not need to ask to be pet. He gets his Juliet without even bothering to toss an effort."

  
She smiled sweetly back.

  
"Oh? Is my Romeo littering hints for me to piece together a message?"

  
"Perhaps so, my Juliet."

  
There came another something welling up inside her; it is a feeling she had been wrestling with for a long while. It was a warm pressure in her breast, molasses that flowed through her stomach, a burn which consumed the rest. It gave her strange desires, desires she should best stay away from. Those eyes of his, once so cold and lifeless, they were now large and warm, as if asking for something. Not anything devious, she knew, rather something slightly more innocent. It made her insides turn to insanity, begging to be acted upon. Even with that strong will of hers, she gave into just a little bit of it. She drew closer to him, running Arpeggio to the foot of the bed, closing the gap between them. Their breasts met, her hands cradled his cheeks, focusing on his eyes.

  
"My Romeo wishes to be pet, does he not?"

  
He chuckled, flushing profoundly as he opened himself up to her, welcoming her with an embrace.

  
"Ay. Rub me like I am your kitten, and coo to me between kisses if you will."

  
"You." she messaged his jaw with her thumb. "You jealous thing."

  
And for good reason as well.

 


	21. Name's Misfortune

_"Mother! Mother! Is it true? Is it true?" he came rushing down the halls of the convent, his eyes wide and filled with energy, a broad grin decorating his face. "Is it true?" he embraced her when they made contact, his little arms wrapping tightly around her torso, burying his face in her belly. Surprised, she smiled down at him, hugging him back, patting him and giggling._

_  
"Is what true, my son?" she replied._

_  
"Is it true that you have a gift for me? For my birthday?"_

_  
In response, she giggled more, looking at him in the eye when he pulled his face off of her._

_  
"And who told you of this?" she asked kindly._

_  
"The nuns, mother, the nuns told me you had a surprise for me." he grinned excitedly. "Dear me! Is it true? My heart cannot slow, mother!"_

_  
She ran her elegant fingers through his hair gently, the tips of her fingernails tickling his scalp. Her eyes glowed, yet deep down, there was a small place in there where they should have glowed, but did not. He, being young, failed to notice._

_  
"Yes, my son, I have a surprise for you." she replied. "Except it is supposed to be a surprise. It is a surprise no more now that you expect it, is it not?"_

_  
"Oh, mother, can you please tell me what it is? I beg thee? Please?"_

_  
She reached down to take his wrist, the wrist that still had not grown meaty as it should on playing boys his age. It was delicate, a delicacy she take carefully._

_  
"I could tell thee... But would it not be superior to have me show you instead?"_

_  
"Ay! Ay! Yes, mother, yes! Please! Take me!" his eyes lit up brighter, walking quickly by her side as she led him down the warm halls of the convent. The halls led to a door, a door which led to the courtyard filled with the irises she loved to grow so much. But there, wandering around in the center, stood a little animal no larger than a hound. It was pure and white as snow untouched in the winter, a mane running down his neck tinted blue, little wings sprouted from either side of its back, hooves clicking against the stone ground as it wandered curiously. Every once and a while, it would sound with a tiny, high pitched bray when it observed something which pleased him._

_  
At the sight, his eyes grew wide, his mouth hanging open in awe, words stolen from his lungs. He rushed towards it, catching the animal's neck with his arms, hugging it with glee._

_  
"A dragonsteed! A dragonsteed! Look mother, he is just my size too!" he held the steed tightly, fighting its frightened attempts to scramble away. However, after a moments worth of combat, the animal soon relaxed, allowing him to stoke his mane, neighing softly. She approached him, a delighted smile on her lips, watching as he admired the creature._

_  
"Yes, do you like him? He is pure white, a species which is rare and treasured."_

_  
"Oh mother he is perfect! He is the best present I have ever received!"_

_  
It was the only present he'd ever received._

_  
She knelt beside him, gazing at the animal happily, then reached out to him, stroking the bridge of his nose gently. The steed took to it rather fast, for he did not offer resistance._

_  
"Mother." he looked at her. "Does he bare a name?"_

_  
"Indeed." she replied. "He is Cielo, for one day, his wings shall spread large and wide, which will allow the two of you to take to the skies and explore. There is no need to bother with those bully children anymore; you and Cielo may go off and see the city from up high and travel places you have never seen. You shall never be lonely, for I will no longer be a long trip across the city from the castle. Cielo will deliver you here, for he shall grow to be a noble and powerful steed. You treat him well now; treat him no different than you would treat yourself."_

_  
Such was a command he obeyed very closely. In fact, the only thing he did not do for Cielo different than himself was allow him in the walls of the castle, which was only because his father prohibited such an act. He cared for Cielo each and everyday, starting with having a nice roomy stable all to himself. He fed him his favorite alfalfa hay at every meal (which was technically supposed to be a treat), always saying unto him:_

_  
"Here, friend Cielo; I know how much you adore this alfalfa, so you shall eat it everyday! I would love to eat sweet candies all day long, thou lucky steed!"_

_  
He brushed and washed his lovely white fur often, even when it was not needed, and polished his ever-growing hooves. Why, it was appropriate to say the boy lived in the castle's stable more than the castle itself. He oft slept there next to Cielo on his bed of straw on the nights he was not in the convent. He stroked him for hours during the day as they took shelter from the sun._

_  
Cielo quickly learned to like him as well. As he grew, which was quickly, far quicker than the boy, the steed treated the boy gently. This was so even when full grown, when he was nearly twice the boy's hight. As his mother had promised, Cielo's wings spread large and wide, and one day, they were able to take to the skies. There wasn't a day in which Cielo did not wear riding gear on his back, for it was each day, as soon as the sun rose, his little master was out of the castle, running towards the stable in the morning mist. Cielo did not mind; he enjoyed being ridden just as much as he enjoyed riding him. They went all over the city, paying visits to his mother often at the convent._

_  
His days of unhappiness were over, for he would no longer have to wander the commoner's district where his name was scorned. He flew over them, waving them goodbye, laughing in the sight of freedom! No longer shall hunger take him prisoner, and no longer shall he weep bitterly during the night; he planned, one day, when he took the throne when he was grown like Cielo, he would always have Cielo by his side. He had a wonderful life planned ahead for all of them. When his father left, leaving him the crown, he would invite his dear mother back to live in the castle, where she would only be a door away. Cielo would always be there for him, who he will visit during his free time. And, if he was lucky enough, he would find himself a woman to call his own._

_  
He, being a boy with desires more mature than toys (the desires of most boys), looked forward to all of it._

_  
But one day, he came to the conclusion he was damned._

_  
One of the pillars which held his dream high and mighty came crashing down._

_  
He was out riding as usual, laughing with Cielo, having the grandest of times, returning by nightfall. He bid his friend a goodnight before returning to where he belonged. It was there, however, he encountered his father, the man he tried his hardest to avoid. He stared down at the boy grimly in the midst of a hall._

_  
"Tonight was the night the Court of Lords was held." he growled. "Thou art a boy coming of age, so wherefore did you neglect to attend?" his voice carried down the halls eerily, making the boy cower._

_  
"F-Forgive me, father, I... I was out with Cielo... The weather was nice, just as the breeze, thus I... We went to fly for a while..."_

_  
What followed would have his memory stained. An indelible stain. He wished it to go away. His father eyes a pair of guards, standing near, armed with spears. He narrowed his eyes angrily._

_  
"Go to the stables and rid it of that steed."_

_  
The men did not question his orders, they walked away, ignoring their Archduke-to-be's pleas._

_  
"N-No! No! Do not! Please! Leave him be!" he rushed to his father. "I beg thee! Recall your order! Punish me in his stead! It was I who was irresponsible and decided to go out instead of attending the Court! Cielo! He has done nothing! Nay!"_

_  
No matter how many tears he shed, Romeo could not save his dear Cielo._

_  
Hours later, by his father's side, he returned to the stables, his eyes glossy and dull. He peered inside, moonlight only allowing him to see just a little ways in. He did not need to see anymore than what the moon would let him, for the moon too was his friend; it wished him not to see. What he did implied more than enough. Emerging from the shadows was a still pair of hooves and pool of crimson slowly enlarging. It led him to his knees, bellowing with his hands sheltering his face._

_  
On his father appeared a small, barely noticeable, smirk._

_  
"Observe where your negligence has gotten you, boy." he grumbled. "The next time I expect you somewhere, I suppose you will heavily consider attending."_

_  
Since, he did attend the things his father wished of him, even when he had desires not to in spite of him. Leantes would one day pay for what he did to Cielo, he swore by it. But deep down... He could not find the courage to do such a thing just yet, for fear had taken him over. He feared that if he was to disobey, he would lose something. He did not know what it was he would lose, but he was afraid of losing it nonetheless. He did not want to lose it._

_  
He grew just like any boy should. And as he grew, like a huge bump in the road, he reached an awkward time in his life: a time bordering pre-manhood, a pre-pre-manhood for a lack of better words. It was a rough transition, for it amplified the willingness to wallow in the corner that he had taken to. His mother was gone now, for a few years at least. The wounds never quite healed. This came as no surprise to him._

_  
Oft times he would peer inside the mirror in the mornings, observing his groggy face. Purple bags hung beneath his eyes, faint red polkadots decorated his cheeks and forehead, he was surprisingly pale, paler than what was considered attractive. He wondered if his face was the reason why all the pretty girls did not want to talk to him._

_  
Yes, another thing which came with pre-pre-manhood: a realization. The boy knew since he was young he was excited to have a mate, but that was only out of custom from seeing every other man he deemed a role model with a woman linking elbows with him. He had become especially interested in girls. Not too long ago, he had learned a new thing about marriage: the birds and bees. Funny enough, despite being a boy his age, he wasn't quite as interested as he should have been. Many called it unhealthy._

_  
He did not find it unhealthy; it was true he was not as sexually driven as he should have been, but that was for two reasons: one, his father and butcher. Two, he knew better than to be persuaded that was all there was to a relationship. Oft times, especially from his 'friend' Mercurio, he had been told what was supposed to be the way it worked. Keep in mind of their similar ages, however._

_  
"Finding yourself a wife is like how the hunters get their dinner on the table, worry not, for I shall tell you how it is done rather than letting you flail about in the dark to fit the pieces together by yourself. First, you must find the girl you like; if you want a good child barer, look for those with the wide and strong hips... Not to mention they are the finest looking as well. Second, you embark on the chase; woo her over with charm and charisma. I shall have you know that it is still a natural instinct of womankind to naturally be interested in a man with a nice build to his body, as she will be assured that you are a strong man capable of providing food for their family. Another tactic is showering her with gifts. Women simply adore gifts. And finally, third, you make her yours, and you defend that title with your all, for she is your property and no one else's."_

_  
But he, being practically raised by his mother, believed otherwise, for he was much more drawn in my the ideal of companionship._

__  
His interest in girls was kept quiet, something he was good at doing. Instead of mingling, putting himself out there like all the other social and lubricious wantons, he watched from afar, rarely able to work up the courage to approach one of them.  
Many would simply deem him shy. That wasn't the case, for he was overcome by fear. 

_  
More times than anticipated, the boy approached young noblewomen a few months shy of his age in the courtyard of the castle or during balls. He was sure to get them when they sat alone, perhaps upon a bench or dipping their feet in the pond. As he reminded himself, he was sure to put a warm smile on his face. He was genuinely happy. He genuinely wanted to talk. He genuinely wanted nothing more than someone at his side._

_  
He remembered, one bright sunny day, he slowly approached a lovely young girl sitting at he pond side, her shoes at her hip and her barren feet relaxing in the clear water. She was very lovely. Her skin was a healthy sort of pale, and from her crown flowed long golden hair braided elaborately. A cloud of wonderful fragrance gathered around her, likely from perfume, a perfume which smelled of flowers in the spring. He remembered being excited in her presence, looking down at her._

_  
"Fair cockcrow." he greeted politely as he prepared to remove his shoes to join her. "Is the water cool this morning?"_

_  
He remembered seeing the face which followed her spying upon him. She turned her head, and immediately, any remaining color in her face disappeared. Her mouth gaped open as her pupils shrunk, filling with an unnamable expression. Whatever it was, it was anything but positive. Quickly, without a second thought, she withdrew her feet from the pool, then grabbed her shoes as she brought herself up._

_  
"E-Excuse me." and she was gone, running towards a group of boys and girls mingling and chatting. Most of those boys were those boys that laughed at every lewd jest. Why did she wish to mix with them? Why did she leave?_

_  
It left his eyes void and dull, his lips refusing to part, nor curve in happiness._

_  
And several years later, he would reencounter all those girls he failed to simply have a conversation with. It was now, like Cielo, he was grown and built, nearing the border of manhood, manhood which was just within his reach. He had grown tall and strong, strong because he worked to grow stronger, training his swordplay to someday strike his father dead. His work payed off, for there he stood, the throne his to sit upon._

_  
There was a ball going on, a ball held the day he was crowned Archduke. He stood amongst the crowd, a glass of water in his hand. Water because he would not dare to allow his tongue to touch a drop of wine, not even at communion. Drinking wine would make him like his father._

_  
During this ball, the most elaborate the castle had seen in a long while, he gave simple answers to questions that surrounded him. However, as the crowd around him died down with time, the questions wandering elsewhere in the ballroom, the women began to move in. Despite their growth, he was still able to somehow recognize them and beautifulness._

_  
One approached him, adorned in a lovely dress filled with warm colors, a rose in their hand. She gave him a delighted, but slightly seductive, smile once he finally took notice of her. She had long golden hair. Her skin a healthy shade of pale. He remembered her, just as she remembered him. Quietly and gently, she took his arm, then embraced it, pressing it between her breasts tightly. Their eyes met. Anger began to well inside him._

_  
"Good evening, O Archduke anew." she cooed. "I have been keeping you in my sights this evening..." she detached one of her arms from the embrace, then lightly set it upon his chest, running it playfully down his suit. "I know it is horribly unladylike of me to ask, but I'm so very aware of how shy you've habit to be... Have you a partner to dance with tonight?"_

_  
At that instant, his pupils shrunk._

_  
A leech. A leech was what she was._

_  
"Perhaps so, perhaps not." he wrestled his arms from her grasp, then smacked her hand from his chest. "Regardless, you would not be a part of it, even if it is just a fragment of my life."_

_  
Hence, he was labeled a woman-hater simply because he turned down each and every proffer a woman had to offer him that night. Some women offered more than just a dance, offers which came scot-free, offers which any other man (perhaps those wantons from his youth) would not dare turn down. It had an effect similar to that of a wildfire, for it spread all as cross the Capitol seemingly in a single night. The next day, during meals as he sat alone at the grand table, the woman maids would serve him his food with intensity. They quickly approached him, placed his bowls and plates before him, bowed, then scurried away, leaving him alone. He felt like an animal. A rabid lion only visited by his owner to be fed._

_  
He dared not to approach a woman since, for they would find some sort of way to run from him; granted, they could not simply high tail it away as they did in his youth with him now The Archduke. Even so, they all seemed to figure out a clever way to escape from him, whether it be telling a lie by explaining they were late for an affair which did not exist or by slowly easing away from him uncomfortably, their hands tense at their sides. He did not bother anymore, for he knew it would bring him grief. It made him wake up every morning and lie in his bed, gazing out the window blankly. Oft, after his grandfather clock chimed noon, servants would enter his room humbly and approach him._

_  
"Y-Your Majesty?" they would say. "I... I am not sure if you are aware, but... It is half past midday, sir... Surely you are aware of how unhealthy it is to lie in bed all day long. It is important that you rise and work, for there are affairs which are in need of addressing."_

_  
"Have Mercutio address those affairs." he did not budge. "Leave me be."_

 


	22. The Butcher

It was no lie to say Juliet was popular around the castle, even though she never bothered to mingle with any besides her darling. Indeed, Juliet was the most popular lady around, more popular than the infamous noble woman Hermione the servants loved to gossip about. She was more popular than the head cleaning maid who always chatted about her make believe noble boyfriend. More popular than The Archduke himself. It was a good sort of popular, for, even though she had never seen their faces, each servant knew her name and loved her so.

  
As she and her Romeo roamed the halls of the castle, migrating from one place to the next, each servant which passed them would face The Archduke, bow, then turn to her. Their bows in regards to her were with more delight it seemed, for a smile would be accompanied, male or female.

  
"M'Lady." they would alway say, coated with respect.

  
One would wonder why the servants would care so dearly for a young woman that had not been present for too long of a time, but the answer was simple. She, like sand to a flame, was the key to a more docile Romeo. It was now to the point where The Archduke, almost every day, would no longer lie in bed for so long, and walking alone with a rotten attitude when he did choose to rise. He was less wrathful, making him more easy going and lenient on the servants when they made a mistake somewhere along the road. He developed courtesy, for he began thanking them when they served him or tidied up his room or delivered his clothing.

  
From the rabid lion came a tame little kitten, which they liked, for it gave them more motivation to offer him respect.   
The majority of the nobles were not different, especially Benvolio. In fact, it was Benvolio who was the first to encounter Juliet, and, for the first time, he worked to present himself well before her. They met in the lounge when The Archduke had momentarily took his leave from Juliet, leaving her to await on a plush couch. He would not be gone for long, but during this window, Benvolio passed by, then caught eye of her. Smiling, he approached her.

  
"Good afternoon." he said, mellow as always. "You are a new face; might you be The Archduke's lovely, Juliet?"

  
She sat herself up, smiling back.

  
"Indeed." she replied. "And who might you be?"

  
The boy sat himself down next to her, his hands modestly on his lap.

  
"I am Benvolio DeFrescobaldi. I deem The Archduke cousin. It is a pleasure to finally meet you after all the wonderful things I have heard." he offered his hand to shake. "You are just as lovely as the servants say. Greetings."

  
As they shook, it was then The Archduke came back into the room, two cups of tea resting on saucers in either of his hands. He eyed the two, frowning as always, as he walked back over to the couch. Benvolio, at her side, immediately tensed, but it was a subtle action.

  
"G-Greetings, Your Majesty." the boy rose from the couch, then hastily preformed a respectful bow. "I was meeting your new lovely. I must say, she is quite a lavish to speak to."

  
The Archduke's eyes narrowed. Just before he could utter a word, one likely to be loaded with ferocity, he caught Juliet staring at him. Such caused him to silence, regroup his words, then exchange them or others.

  
"Hello, Benvolio." he rumbled softly as he handed Juliet a saucer. "I am pleased to hear you take well to my Juliet..."

  
"Of course, not as well as you, Your Majesty; I do not take that well to her." Benvolio laughed nervously, flushing. "Never. That would be disrespectful. I take well to her and consider her my cousin-in-law."

  
Gently, as Juliet took her cup, The Archduke eyed her.

  
"Juliet." he murmured. "He has not caused you disturbance, has he?"

  
"Nay, nay, of course not." she sat up urgently. "Wherefore would a boy like him cause unrest? He seems quite mild-mannered, far too mild-mannered to go about burdening young women."

  
The Archduke eyed Benvolio.

"Quite." he agreed. "Which reminds me; because you are not one to bother women, what are you the one to? Have you not a place to be? Mind us and leave us at peace if you will."

  
Almost immediately, Juliet stood to set a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently.

  
"Please, not so hostile." she whispered. "We have all day and night with one another's company, do we not? Why shall we not allow your dear sweet cousin time with us?"

  
"The boy has superior affairs he must attend."

  
"Frankly, Your Majesty, that is incorrect, for I have bushels of time on my hands with a famine of events or people to tend to."   
It became quiet with nothing but the two boys exchanging stares. At last, though slightly reluctant, The Archduke sighed after her hand begged him with a slight pat on the cheek. He shut his eyes, then looked away.

  
"Fine then." he murmured. "Mingle with us, Benvolio; I shall give this occasion free of charge."

  
Smiling, Benvolio sat himself victoriously at the other end of the couch.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When there came a knock on the door, Willy rushed over to it just as any housekeeper with common sense would. However, the only strange thing was, he paused before the door, eyeing it hesitantly. This, actually, wasn't quite as strange as it was made out to be at first; it was nearing midnight, and all of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. Something was surely amiss. But then, however, Willy was reminded by a call from behind.

  
"Willy." she called, sitting at a table in the lobby with a pair of crossed arms. "I'll have you know I am getting quite cranky; can we please hurry with the line overview so that I may return home to retire?"

  
Alarmed, Willy peered over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

  
"Oh, but listen Emilia; I've a guest at my theatre at midnight! What or who might the knocker be? Who would have business in a theatre at midnight besides robbery! What are my options? What am I to do?"

  
Emilia, with a huff, rose from her seat, stormed over to him at front the door, then took the handle.

  
"You must have forgotten already, you bard; the elderly Conrad man of yours inquired that you answer the door to a man they were expecting tonight. It was important business I recall him mentioning."

  
Willy gasped.

  
"Dear me, that's correct." he began working to undo the several locks on the postern. "It was supposed to be the butcher... The Archduke apprehended his son last week... Nothing has been heard of him since..."

  
The door swing open, and there, standing in the rain on the small porch, dressed in a dark coat, stood a tall brawny man. His eyes were dull and clouded with distress, glued to the ground. Momentarily, both Willy and Emilia paused to study him; he looked like an awful wreck, for he was dirty, clothes and skin. His hair, oily, was matted like a mop. Those eyes of his were bloodshot red. Pitifully, Willy stepped to the side, inviting him in.

  
"...Mister Mazzio I presume?"

  
"Ay." the man grumbled as he stepped inside, tracking mud and water on the carpet without a second thought. He looked around, eventually facing Willy once again. "I'm sure you were told I've business here?"

  
"Indeed." Willy nodded. "Please, allow me to show you the way, and I shall leave you be."

  
Later, up the secret stairs, hidden behind the walls of the theatre, Cordelia placed a cup of warm tea before him gently, soon departing from the presence of the table. The dining room became empty of eyes that should not be there, only those who meant business. The butcher sat at one end of the table, eyes blankly watching the steady line of steam rise from his cup; on the opposite end sat three: Conrad, Curio, and Francisco.

  
...Well, the four thought they had the privacy to speak, but, unbeknownst to them, there sat a pair of curious eyes and ears behind the doorframe, cleverly hidden. It was, of course, the eyes and ears of the little, but concerned, Antonio. His lips remained sealed, but his ears listening sharply, especially as his grandfather cleared his throat.

  
"Sir Mazzio." the elder reached across the table, offering his hand. "You may call me Conrad; it is a pleasure to meet you."   
The butcher did not look up to him, nor join his palm.

  
"Please." he muttered. "Spare me the time and explain to me why I was summoned here. Why by letter? Can you not come invite me in person?"

  
"For the sake of secrecy we have called you here by letter." Francisco explained softly. "We would prefer not to be seen conspiring with you."

  
"Wherefore?" the man furrowed his brows as he tensely yanked his head up. "Have you something sinister planned for me?"   
The three remained calm, remaining quiet.

  
"Nay, Sir Mazzio." Conrad murmured. "We called you here on behalf of your eldest son, Francesco."

  
The room fell silent. Almost, actually, for the cup of tea yet to be drank shifted when the butcher's hands hit the surface of the table with passion. Tears built in his eyes, weeps escaped his lips as his face turned as bright as a cherry, his brawny fists clenched tightly.

  
"Francesco." he mourned. "My boy Francesco..." he urgently looked up to them, rivers flowing down his cheeks. "Have you news about him? Oh please let it be well! A location? Sanctuary? Please spit it out! My son was the only hope I had to continue taking care of my family! He was becoming such a fine young man; I am becoming too old and busy to carry on without him!"

  
The gazes of the three dulled. Conrad frowned. Francisco looked away. Curio attempted to keep his face straight. They sat for a moment, as if they were silently arguing who would deliver the news, passing the subject back and forth like a hot potato. Of course, one, Conrad, decided he would finally rise and do the man Justice. Such he did with stiff shoulders, his hands clasping one another.

  
"Forgive me to bare the news, Sir Mazzio..." he gazed down. "But your son, alongside six other brave young men, were brought down in The Archduke's throne room by a blade... The Archduke's blade of all."

  
The butcher paused for a long while, his mouth gaping open in shock. He did not move. Tears did not well. He face did not burn. His fists did not clench. It was as though he had died with his eyes open, an expression frozen on his face. Antonio, watching in secret, could not help but feel his eyes widen in disbelief.

  
"Damn him!" the butcher grabbed the cup of tea, only hurl it to the wall. It shattered immediately, sending a burst of steaming tea. He pounded on the table over and over, screaming, shouting, wailing in agony. "Damn The Archduke! Damn The Rose! Damn Montague! Damn his mother and his father and his mother's mother and his father's father! Damn them all to the deepest pits of hell, where they'll rot and starve and suffer and wallow in their strife!" he sank to the floor, his face buried in his hands, wailing further, shouting the name of his fallen son.

  
Conrad, like Francisco and Curio, allowed it to happen without any resistance. They watched pitifully, frowning, tempted to look away in strife. Antonio gave in to the temptation, for his head turned, a hand cupping over his lips. Horror gathered in his eyes. However, as more time passed, as the butcher continued, there came a point where young Antonio emerged from behind the doorframe, looking pitifully at the fallen man.

  
"Sir Mazzio..." he whispered, magnetizing all eyes to him. "I... I am dreadfully sorry..."

  
Though he gazed at him, the butcher did not answer.

  
"Antonio." Conrad grumbled in disapproval. "You do not have a place here."

  
"Nay, grandfather, please, yield me one inquiry." the boy turned to the butcher again. "Please, Sir Mazzio, answer me this: wherefore does The Archduke target you so savagely? Wherefore is your family so under attack? He cannot have just chosen you as a random target, could he?"

  
The man continued to weep, but as he did, he brought himself up, pushing tears from his face.

  
"Heavens." he sulked as he forced himself back into his seat sluggishly. "The Archduke, so thirsty for the blood of my loved ones and myself..." his face met the surface of the desk. "Heavens, it is all my fault..."

  
Francisco raised a brow, much like his friend Curio.

  
"There is no need to blame yourself for anything that has happened to your son. You are nowhere near responsible." Curio corrected sternly. The butcher, in response, shook his head.

  
"He remembered me." he whispered. "The Archduke remembered me as I commanded."

  
"Remembered?" Conrad echoed.

  
"The Archduke... I committed a horrid act against The Archduke... When he was still a boy like your grandson..." he gripped the sides of his head. "And by doing so I sealed my son's fate. I had my son killed and well-being destroyed, for I am now hunted as a criminal, led to believe I struck Leantes dead... The Archduke executes his revenge for what I did unto him. He gets back at me. He took for what I took..."

  
"Heavens!" Conrad exclaimed, his hands spreading over the table. "What sort of act could you have done to a boy?"

  
"His father did not spare medication for my sweet wife... She now lays upon her death bed, expected to live no longer than a few months now... I had to satisfy my need to punish the name of Montague that decade ago. Oh, how I had to satisfy. I lured the boy into my home with promises of food hours before we celebrated the birthday of Francesco, then, with his defenselessness, I tore into him in a private room. I abused him and his body, both inside and out, before I threw him into the streets, just as starving as he was before. My last words to him urged him to recall my wife and I when he took throne..." he sighed bitterly. "But by no means did I intend for him to recall me to lash out at me. He was to spare the medication for my wife. Instead he took my son. Instead he framed me and nearly had me without a head atop my shoulders. He framed me for slaying his father! He killed the man so that he could take the throne and rule! So that he may punish all those who've wronged him! All those who've ridiculed him and dubbed him Montague scum, casting him in the dirty streets to starve like the filthy rat he was!"

  
A pause followed. Conrad, silent, heaved a sigh before long, his fingers laced together, a frown on his lips. He nodded briefly, his eyes shut, branded by hesitation.

  
"So you raped The Young Archduke-To-Be..."

  
"Sickening." Francisco's nose wrinkled. "And what of your children? Have they been abused?"

  
"Of course not!" The butcher rose in fury. "I wouldn't dare to dream of it! I did not commit such an act unto The Archduke for pleasure, nay, I did it for revenge. I did it so he would know and see how despised he is. It would have done us the most help if he incurred suicide shortly after in hopes of escaping the pain. It would be best because he would then go to hell and suffer more."

  
Conrad sat still.

  
"I see." he observed. "You are less justified in my eyes now, I will have you know. However..." he cleared his throat, then straightened his spine. "I am ever apologetic to hear the misfortune which occurred to your son. We have called you here to tell you such for closure... But that is not all."

  
The butcher, red faced, frowned.

  
"What more?" he inquired.

  
"We would like to know if you are seeking revenge..." and slowly, from his pocket, Conrad withdrew an emblem. The emblem was blood red, shaped finely to appear just as the crest of the true noble house: Capulet.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, to Antonio's surprise, Antonio awoke to find his grandfather in his room, sitting in the chair in the corner. A pair of reading glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, a subtle frown on his face, eyes gazing down at a thick book in his lap. For a moment, half asleep, the boy stared at the man, puzzled. When he chose to rise, however, the elder looked up to him, then gave him a soft smile.

  
"Good morning, Antonio." he greeted. "I assume you rested well?"

  
With a quick run of the eye, the boy released a yawn.

  
"Yea, somewhat." he replied tiredly. "Where all respect is due, grandfather, for what reason do you linger in my bedroom?"

  
"I have intentions to ask of you a few questions." Conrad explained, folding a page before shutting the book. "Once you've woken up, of course."

  
He stretched.

  
"Questions?" he echoed. "I am awake, do ask."

  
"Nay, not quite you are not. I am in no hurry, Antonio, so if you wish to go back to sleep, you may. Be prepared for my questions when you finally get up, however." as the man stood, ready to depart from the room, however, Antonio rushed out of bed, shook his head a few times, then gazed up at him.

  
"Look, grandfather, I am no longer in bed, and I am no longer in need of sleep. I am free to answer your questions."

  
"Very well so then." the elder smiled slightly. "Splash water on your face and meet me in the dining room."

  
Antonio was quick to carry out the chore. In no time at all, he had rushed to the washroom, drew water from the fountain, then had it all over his face. If he wasn't awake before, he was awake now, for the water was cold, sending bumps down his body the moment he touched it. The coldness had invited him to throw on heavier clothes. He treaded downstairs then after, his curious mind wandering all over.

  
"Questions." he thought to himself. "My grandfather has for me questions. What sort of questions? Of what shall they concern? Perhaps they are regarding Juliet and The Archduke? Oh surely, that must be the case; the boy has murdered eight people now, first his father, then the gang along with the butcher's poor son... Juliet is surely in dire trouble; she needs to be relieved and gotten out of the castle before she becomes his ninth victim..."

  
He peered around the doorpost to the small dining room, where he there found his grandfather at the table, continuing to read his book next to the light pouring inside from the window. Beside him sat Francisco and Curio, both chatting quietly, most likely bickering over something a trifle. The moment they took notice of him, they halted everything they did, then looked up at him in silent greeting. After a motion from his grandfather, Antonio took a seat at the table, his eyes darting about curiously.

  
"You requested my presence?" the boy inquired.

  
"Indeed." replied Conrad. "You are needed to answer us a few questions as I mentioned before. They regard The Archduke and Lady Juliet."

  
The boy felt a breath leave his nostrils; just as he suspected, questions regarding the two. It was for good reason, he realized, seeing how important the subject remained. Even though the event which left them without Juliet occurred many, many weeks ago, he tried his hardest to dig each and every detail from his subconscious, then utilize it.

  
"Of course." he replied. "Please, ask me, seeing that I have witnessed things you have not."

  
"From which mind did the idea of ambushing the Archduke conceive?"

  
"Mine, grandfather; after I inquired of Juliet the reason why The Archduke stated The Red Whirlwind reminded him of a woman named Juliet."

  
Francisco raised a brow.

  
"Curious." he observed. "And how exactly were you aware The Archduke said such a thing?"

  
A flush spread across the boy's face.

  
"A-Another thing I neglected to tell of you... Something I should have brought to the table much sooner."

  
"Well do not delay, Antonio!" Conrad's voice raised. "Tell us what you should have told us before now!"

  
Cowering, Antonio nodded his head hesitantly.

  
"A few months ago, Juliet and I..." his head turned, as though he was trying to escape. "We answered The Archduke's armless call as Red Whirlwind and sidekick... And we entered his castle under the promise he would not harm us, all because he had a favor to ask."

  
"You entered the castle? Without even notifying us?" the man grit his teeth in frustration. "You foolish boy! It is a miracle you are still here! What favor did he dare to inquire of you and Lady Juliet?"

  
"H-He asked... He asked of us to kill someone... Like hitmen."

  
"Did you accept the proposal?"

  
"Of course not, grandfather."

  
"Who was the intended target, boy?"

  
For a moment, Antonio say still, his lips sealed tightly shut. He retracted his head like a turtle, gaze darting down to his fumbling hands. His lips sank down to his chin in hesitation, face branded by dread. Suddenly, he wished he had stayed in his bed and continued sleeping, for the answer may startle them further, making his grandfather's hairs grayer than before.

  
"The..." his thumbs twiddled.

  
"The...?" Francisco leaned closer with interest, interest which did not bare excitement.

  
"T-The Capulet girl." he murmured. "He asked of us to hunt and kill the Capulet girl."

  
"Lady Juliet..." Conrad whispered tensely. "Her of all things..." his head was brought up. "Wherefore does he want her dead? She wasn't foolish enough to reveal herself as such was she?"

  
Antonio violently shook his head.

  
"Nay, grandfather, nay! Juliet is far more intelligent than to give herself away! She kept it hidden I assure you, and I assume it shall stay that way until the times comes in which she is to take the throne from him."

  
"And just why does The Archduke want her head?" Curio's brows anchored, his bad eye scrunching. "To assure his place on the throne? To assure the crown on his head? To assure his crest remains mounted on each and every wall?"

  
Slowly, Antonio sank down in his chair, his eyes filling with worry as he recalled the conversation with The Archduke. With the words, there came the feeling of hot tea on his lips, the sweet taste meeting his tongue. It was good tea, good tea that was not poisoned, as proven by the taste test.

  
"I figured that at first as well, Sir Curio... Of course that was before Juliet asked of him why..."

  
"Explain everything he said, Antonio." Conrad urged tensely.

  
Antonio swallowed what little saliva was in his mouth.

  
"His reasons for wanting the Capulet girl... Were much more noble than I originally figured. He wanted the Capulet girl because a Capulet, another survivor of the massacre, had slew his dear mother in cold blood for relations to the man who slaughtered his house. Lady... Lady..." he failed to recall her name.

  
"Lady Portia." Conrad finished softly. "Lady Portia was her name, the woman who deemed Leantes husband during the final eve of the Capulet reign. The one who deemed our Archduke Romeo son. She left Leantes just a few years after the night of terror, where she moved to a convent across the city and was named a nun. She was a precious woman, such I know from previous encounters, a precious woman who remained loyal to the rightful house of royalty: Capulet. She has helped us dozens of times while she roamed the earth, ranging from humbly offering food during times of household famine to delivering a precious token: the Capulet Blade. The Capulet Blade shall be what Juliet will strike Romeo dead with one day when she reclaims her throne..." he shook his head roughly. "She was not murdered by Capulet blood. I know such for a fact."

  
Antonio, intrigued, leaned closer.

  
"Truly?" he inquired. "Who then?"

  
"Why, none other than her former husband, Leantes. He was enraged by her leaving, but even more enraged when he discovered she continued to support the name of Capulet. One night, a few years after she was deemed a nun, a steed landed in the courtyard of the convent, delivering an Archduke armed with a claymore. He went inside and slew her for treason against him." he sighed mournfully. "And a pity it was to hear about it soon after from a fellow nun who happened to pay witness to it. Lady Portia, a marvelous woman who passed too soon. It drove me even further to bring The Archduke Leantes to his end."

  
A moment of silence lingered amongst the lot of the, who sat respectfully, heads down.

  
"It sounds to me The Archduke altered the story to play your emotions like a fiddle." Francisco suggested calmly once the silence had passed. He eyed Antonio gently, watching as his face did not change.

  
"Perhaps so..." the boy replied hesitantly. "But you would not believe the force with which he spoke. He took his mother so personally, The Archduke. Why, he broke out into a fit when Juliet dared to offer an insult which stated he believed his mother deserved to be killed. What sort of person can possibly portray such emotion into an act?"

  
Curio frowned.

  
"He _is_ the Master of Lies." he commented lowly.

  
"Or perhaps he is the Master of the Deceived..."

  
The whole room paused, for there came a deep, and unfamiliar, tone which wandered up the stairs. It drew closer to the dining room, closer with each heavy step. Alarmed, Conrad, Francisco, and Curio bolted up from their seats, snatched a sword from a barrel on the corner, then braced themselves. Antonio, pale, grit his teeth.

  
 _"Heavens!"_ he thought to himself in horror. _"Has the Carabinieri discovered us? Lord, let it not be, I beg!"_

  
The footsteps grew louder. More and more menacing. It got to the point where Conrad would no longer let his mouth remain shut.

  
"Fiend! Reveal yourself!"

  
"Do stay calm, for I am no fiend." a body came around the corner of the doorframe, revealing a built young man. His blue-green eyes were cold, piercing their own with confidence. His hair, short and charcoal black, lined his fine jaw. His strong back housed two daggers x'ed from shoulder to shoulder, concealed by a dark mysterious cloak. A slight smile appeared on his smooth, creamy face.

  
All eyed the man with prejudice.

  
"And just..." Francisco trailed off in wonder.

  
"Greetings; I am Tybalt Volumnia DeCapulet. I have come to offer my alliance."

 


	23. Portia's Blessing

_Once, not too long ago, when Conrad was somewhat younger, he was tending to the several documents cooped up inside the old study. He dusted off one after one, coughing every now and then, then placed each individually on top of another. But then, suddenly, there entered Willy, who peeked his head inside with a smile._

_  
"Good morrow, Old Conrad." he greeted. "I dread interrupting you and your important work, but there stands a visitor for you at my front door. It is best she not be kept waiting."_

_  
Conrad, puzzled, lifted his head from his organizing with a frown, eyeing the playwright with a raising brow._

_  
"She?" he echoed._

_  
And a she it was. When he came to the front door of the theatre, after crossing the spaciously elegant lobby, his eyes met the soft eyes of a middle aged woman. She stood tall, yet humble, as she gave him a friendly smile before granting him a respectful curtsy._

__  
"A pleasure to greet you this afternoon, Sir Conrad." she told him. In response, a smile infected the old man's lips as well.  
"Lady Portia." he began, grinning. "A pleasure indeed. May I invite you inside?" 

_  
"Oh, nay; not yet at least." she held her hand up before her, motioning to him. "Bring down some men if you will; I have brought things by steed to you. They are things I imagine you would find more than useful for your righteous cause."_

_  
And so, Conrad sent for the strong young men Francisco and Curio, who came rushing down along with a pair of helping hands: little Antonio and the growing Odin. They went to work, sucking to the strong and steady steed standing outside the theatre in the streets. They brought in all the barrels and crates packed down on the animal inside in a matter of two trips, that only being because Odin was curiously not allowed to carry a thing, and Antonio, still little, could barely handle anything he was handed._

_  
They were lugged inside, brought up the secret stairs residing in the hall, then set in the kitchen, where they reunited with their waiting harbinger; the gentle Lady Portia. She watched them with a smile as she chatted lightly with Conrad, resting each and every word of gratitude. When Francisco hauled in the last barrel, the group stood around the trove, observing it with wonder._

_  
"Excellent." Portia observed. "It is a relief to see none had issues bringing it all up here."_

_  
Cordelia, working on lunch, peered over her shoulder, eyeing the bunches of boxes and barrels hesitantly._

_  
"Well I've certainly hopes they will not be crowding my workplace for long." she grumbled mildly._

_  
"Then please, open them and remove their contents, that way you may store them wherever they are needed." Portia replied. "They are a gift from you to me, one who advocates your ways and cause."_

_  
Excited, the little Antonio rushed for a box._

_  
"Let us open them! Let us open them! Let us see what lies hidden inside!"_

_  
Odin, young as well, hurried to join him._

_  
With the help of a crowbar, the group cracked the crates open, where they were greeted by a surprising sight; beneath the cover lay a bed of hay. Of course, the two young ones did not understand hay was not all they had received; Conrad, familiar with the ways of the secretive, smiled before taking the mite and brushing it to the side, revealing a much more valuable prize beneath. It was a pile of blades, all well sharpened and baring moderate craftsmanship. The sight interested all in the room, much including the working Cordelia, who momentarily abandoned lunch._

_  
Many crates more contained a similar gift, while others, smaller crates, harbored a number of knives, arrows, bows, even a handful of axes. Inside barrels was an attractive supply of grain, others apples, others a cocktail of vegetables. All who gazed upon the prizes widened their eyes, inviting their jaws to drop. Shocked, Conrad turned around, gazing at the humble woman behind him._

_  
"L-Lady Portia..." he whispered in awe._

_  
"For you and all the others you've connections with." she smiled softly. "If you are to lead an army full of loyalists, you are in definite need of supplies. I strongly believe these will come of great use to you."_

_  
"Not... Not even great use is a proper way to describe..."_

_  
"Army? Loyalists?" Odin suddenly piped curiously, eyeing them. Immediately, Conrad's heart caught fire, and his eyes widened. Quickly, Curio patted Odin on the back, then cleared his throat._

_  
"Odin. Antonio." he spoke. "Your curiosity has been satisfied, has it not? We request you leave the room if you do not mind. Either go to your rooms or go play in the streets."_

_  
"Play in the streets?" Antonio echoed. "That sounds like a ball! Come, Odin! Let us go practice our swordplay!"_

_  
And like that, Antonio rushed away, Odin's willing wrist in tow. The two rushed out, stomped down the stairs, then ran into the hall do the theatre, shouting excitedly. Those who remained in the kitchen did not continue to speak until they heard the secret door slam shut. When such a sound came about, Conrad heaved a sigh, allowing his eyes to hit the ground._

_  
"Lady Portia." he murmured. "No word of gratitude can do this unbelievable favor Justice. I am truly at a loss for words."_

_  
"Please," Portia shook her head gently. "Do not bother. All I ask in return is for the lot of you to win the throne back from the man I once called husband. This final gift should come as a godsend." they watched as she walked behind the piles of boxes, where she removed one last small crate, one their eyes had glossed over in the past. It was a small box, rectangular and long, evidently lightweight. She held it with care as she approached the elder, where she carefully placed it in his hands._

_Conrad observed the box, handling it with as much humbleness as she had._

_  
"Curious." Francisco commented as he observed the long crate, his eyes squinting. "What is inside?"_

_  
"Look and see for yourself." Portia retorted kindly._

_  
The crowbar served one last job for the day when the box was opened. Inside, they found only a single blade. It was swaddled in cloth like a newborn, smothered in hiding. Conrad, almost immediately, felt his breath leave him._

_  
"B-Be this what I believe...?" he whispered, hands shaking. His fingers gently unraveled the smooth cloth, revealing the preciousness which was beneath. The blade was great and mighty, stainless, shiny, and with its hilt adorned in red and gold. The blade was heavy for one individual blade, one to be held with two hands. Its loftiness left them all at a pause._

_  
"I was able to grab hold of it before Leantes did." Portia murmured softly. "It is time it is to return to its proper owner, I believe."_

_  
"My eyes... How can they not deceive me?" Curio breathed in shock. "The Capulet blade, unscathed and as beautiful as it was before it was used against the blade of The Rose..."_

_  
Conrad, with his lips sealed, held the sword tightly, tightly as though he had believed it would be lost again. His head sank, dipping before the woman._

__  
"With this article there is honor, for it is the last pure fragment left of the house of Capulet besides our Archduchess-to-be..."  
"Let it be for her." Portia spoke thoroughly. "I intend for this blade to be the blade which ends the reign of Montague over the land. Spare it to slay Leantes if he does not give up his throne, even when his back is against the wall. Spare it to be held in the hands of your Archduchess and your Archduchess only. Let her be the one to end it. Let her be the one to reclaim what is hers." 

_  
"Yea, we shall, My Lady." whispered Conrad. But at that moment, Francisco's head rose, his attentive gaze directed towards her, tension rising in his eyes._

_  
"And if Leantes is dead before then? Slain by another sword or arrow or bludgeon?"_

_  
Portia's eyes hardened suddenly. Her shoulders knotted, and she forced herself to speak._

_  
"Then my son, Romeo, will take the throne." she murmured. "And I see him as no exception to the line of Montague. Use the blade to end the reign, even if my son sits with the crown atop his head. Use the blade to reset the land to what it once was."_

_  
The room became quiet and tense, the lot staring at one another. Did the gaze hold horror? Not exactly, but it was... Dreadful. _

_  
"You love your son, though, do you not?" Conrad inquired._

_  
"Of course I do." she murmured. "But I am not for him. He should never be the one to receive the throne, nor the crown. I shudder to think of him in such a position, even when he matures in years. Too many heave wronged him for compassion to sprout in his heart. At least, such is the case in regards to the country. He will not be Archduke when he is Archduke; death will be Archduke. The land will fall darker if Leantes is to die before your Archduchess slays him. I do advise you hurry. I truly do. Do not let my son become Archduke, I beg. And should your control over the matter slip away..." she shut her eyes tightly. "Kill him quickly so that he may not suffer."_

 


	24. Villainous Heroism

The Archduke wasn't quite as awful as he was made out to be. He cared for things besides himself, not even because he would somehow gain something or someone. Of course, few were subject to those exceptions. Juliet, without question, happened to be within that tiny, tiny number. That was why, on one morning, there would be another death soon to occur.   
Juliet rest in her bed alone that morning, her wishes kept from when she requested to be spared her innocence the night before. The Archduke was slightly reluctant to let her be alone, but, like most cases, such was only because he hated being alone at night. Even so, despite that, he allowed her by herself just as she asked of him. It wasn't exactly the smartest decision, they would both come to find out, but it was also neither of them that were at fault. None could see the future, nor predict it. If they had such a priceless ability, the event would have never occurred. The Archduke would have never been more defensive of her. She would have never been scarred. The man would have never been sent to his death.

  
The sun crept in from the window, spilling in by only one concentrated, but thick, ray. Like clockwork, the door bore a knock. Well... Actually, it was not on clockwork time. Room service came early that morning, but Juliet would not know such a thing, for she had just awoken, and no clocks were near by for her to gaze upon. She would have known something was amiss had neither of those crucial factors been present.

  
The cart came wheeling inside the room, drawing near to the bed in which he lay. The wheels squeaked and moaned; it was as if they knew something bad was coming, and they were trying to alert her. But she, unfamiliar to the tongue of wheels, did not act upon those cries. She remained in a state of light sleep, slowly drawing out and into reality. Strangely enough, the deliverer did not say a word unto her, not even a greeting of the morning. This was curious, not just because it was a necessity required of the servants, but also because the majority of the servants, who all loved Juliet, were often more than happy to see her; a greeting should come naturally.

  
Instead, something strange occurred. Through her sleep, she felt a strange amount of weight crawl beneath the covers next to her. Still being mostly asleep, she assumed it to be Romeo, prepared to give her a good morning massage. She did not mind his presence, of course... But as time went on, she drew more and more awake, for the hairs on the back of her neck stood. It was for good reason, too; before long, strangely, an arm wrapped around her roughly. Romeo was never rough, she knew, thus she could immediately come to the conclusion something was very wrong.

  
Her eyes snapped oven as she scrambled to peer over her shoulder. There, behind her, she found a face, an unfamiliar face. It was a well sculpted face with a strong jaw which went very well against a broad chest, barren and uncovered. Just like any normal young woman would, she panicked. Before she could escape, much to her dismay, his grip on her tightened, and with his strong muscles, he pulled her into him. He chuckled greedily, rubbing his body against her hungrily, looking at her like a deranged animal.

  
"Good morning, princess." he whispered grossly. "My, doth you look awfully delicious today..."

  
Immediately, she charged up a punch, more than ready to release it upon him, only for it to be caught. He grabbed bother her wrists, leaving her powerless, then shoved her down, pinning himself on top of her. He ground himself against her, moaning, tightening his grasp as she struggled more and more. At last, there came a moment when she could no longer take it; her strong thighs powered their way out of their lock, then, with no restraint, she kneed his bottom. Of course, the man quick was quick to release a howl, his grip on her wrists weakening.

  
She did not abandon the opportunity; she snapped out of his embrace and rushed off the bed. Her mind considered two options: one, grab the envelope opener on the opposite side of the bed, or two, flee from the room and get Romeo. Before she could act upon either, the man lunged to her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, then tackled her to the ground. She let out a shout, demanding she be let go.

  
Lucky for her, Benvolio happened to be passing by, originally planning to bid she and The Archduke a good morning. He paused the moment he passed her door, and his eyes widened at the sound of a thud. Hastily, he stormed inside, his fists balled up and his brows furrowed.

  
"Lo! What occurs inside here?" he exclaimed. He was greeted by a unappealing sight: a girl pinned on the ground, struggling beneath a stranger. Without a second thought, the boy rushed up to the two, then kicked the man square in the temple with the toe of his boot. "Off of her, villain!"

  
The stranger went flying off with a shout, where he stumbled into the wall nearby, creating a loud noise, one which resembled thunder. Thunder it was not, The Archduke would soon come to discover. He resided in the room next door, pondering in his corner, when the sound suddenly grasped his attention. His eyes widened the moment his ears welcomed it, drawing his head up to perk, eyes conducting an intense survey of the area round him. Like Benvolio, he had no second thoughts before rushing to his feet, heading towards the door.

  
Benvolio was not the toughest of fighters, such explained why the wrestle match between him and the stranger did not produce any fruit in his favor. He too was pounded to the ground, the man's knees on either side of his body, a fist repetitively meeting his face. Juliet, no stranger to combat, refused to stand still: she rushed over to the nightstand, where she yanked open a drawer, then dug around until she finally fished out her prize: the envelope opener. Quickly, her feet padded over to the two brawlers, where she real eased a roar.

  
"Linger any longer and I shall unleash this wrath upon you!" she warned, never one to shed crimson by desire. In response, the man looked up, fist covered in Benvolio's blood, then gave her a toothy grin. The look in his eyes, like the furious patch of flush across his face, looked deranged.

  
"Come now, princess." he murmured. "You wouldn't dare want to hurt a man like me..." he eased closer. "I can make you feel very happy." quickly, without even a hint, nor warning, he reached for her hand, where he snatched the blade from her grasp. Juliet could not believe herself, letting her guard down so. She grew frightened, yet tried her hardest to conceal such, even as the man closed in on her, the instrument in his hands. He chuckled while delving into her terrified eyes, his muscles on display, just as other things.

  
In a moment's worth, however, just when she figured it was lights out, there came a sucker punch to the man's fine jaw, a sucker punch powerful enough to push him away. In the wake of the man's stumbling, there stood The Archduke, clad in his sleep wear and unprotected. He heaved furiously, fists clenched, shoulders raised and knotted in rage. When his gaze exchanged with his adversary, the man, for just a moment, appeared frightened.

  
Benvolio watched helplessly from the ground as Romeo approached the fiend, who tried to scramble back to his feet. Romeo waited from distance until he was back up, only to swing yet another punch at his face the moment he had. They fought one another until the stranger had been pinned in the corner, cowering beneath the mighty Archduke. The Archduke was not sparing, for he instantly kneed him, kneed him as he punched, punched as he scratched his face like a cat. The man wailed, but only for a moment, for his lips formed a toothy grin once more; he brought his hand up in secret, and, before any could warn him, plunged the envelope opener into The Archduke's side, drawing a shout. Terrified, Juliet cupped her hands over her mouth, begging her lips not to scream is name.

  
The Archduke backed away, red pouring from his torso, staining his sleepwear. His breathing labored. His eyes shut tightly. All those occurred as the man, with red streaming down his face, slowly approached him, prepared to create a second puncture. Benvolio's mouth widened.

  
"Your Majesty!" he called urgently. "Cousin!"

  
Romeo's eyes bolted open, and, as if all pain had subsided, he gasped for air, then dodged the man's attack. As a follow up, he snatched his armed wrist, then ripped the blade from his grasp. The opener flew behind them, landing on the ground meters away. As the stranger stared at the situation in horror, Romeo dived into him, ramming him back into the corner. He screamed to bare with the sting, and his hands, far stronger than the man's, bolted to his throat, where he wrapped and squeezed like a snake.

  
From a distance, Juliet and Benvolio watched as the villain struggled, but then, as time passed, he struggle grew less and less before he was completely motionless. Once that point came, he was thrown on the floor like a rag. The Archduke stood over the man, heaving, his blood traveling down his shins and foot, pooling beneath him. His eyes said he was not finished. With wobbling legs, he trekked over to the envelope opener laying on the ground, leaving bloody foot prints on the glossy tile floor behind him. When he bent to pick it up, Benvolio, despite his weakness, forced himself to his feet.

  
"Your Majesty!" he rushed to the boy, where he threw his hand on his shoulder. "Wait!"

  
The Archduke harshly attempted to throw his grip off before finishing the job.

  
"Leave me be." he croaked weakly.

  
"Your Majesty, I beg you heed my words..." Benvolio breathed. "Here... Here is not place for bloodshed. Not in your mother's room. Do not do it here."

  
Romeo stood still, gasping for air, a hand over his wound. Eventually, the blade fell from his hand before he collapsed onto his knees, looking down at the man's unconscious body.

  
"Perhaps you are correct." he reasoned. "For there is no better place for bloodshed than the town square..."

  
He and Juliet found themselves next to a fireplace that night. He lay at her feet, warming himself by the fire in the dark room, his eyes shut lightly from a thin blanket of sleep. Arpeggio, off in the dark parts of the bedroom, slept elsewhere.

  
His wound had been treated, to her relief, and there was nothing to worry about, for the injury had been nowhere near life threatening... And yet Juliet felt a need to do something. As if something was amiss and ill. The most she could do was run her thumb over his forehead, watching as he lay peacefully. A new set of sleep clothes had been placed on him, no longer painted crimson... And yet the memory seemed to stain her mind, for more often than once, at the corner of her eye, she saw red gathering over the place of his wound, only to find nothing there.

  
He twitched, bringing his eyes open. For a moment he lay still, looking up at her, gazing into her eyes quietly. At last, he gave her a slight smile.

  
"You are bothered, my love." he murmured softly over the crackling of wood. Her gaze dulled.

  
"What that man did..." she whispered, petting his hair.

  
"He was drunk, so we came to discover." he replied quickly. "But I do not care. What he tried to do to you is inexcusable. I shall not over look it. He will be beheaded in a week before the commoners; all shall watch and see what happens to those who try to bring harm unto her that is precious to me. Fret no more."

  
Gently, she shook her head.

  
"Nay..." she trailed in to silence. " I do not feel threatened, nor do I care how the fiend is punished... I am worried for you. I cannot thank you for what you have done, and I cannot heal your wound, nor take it for you..."

  
"Good." he said. "That is how it should be. You have given me so much... It is truly the least I can do in return. You may believe it is you that is indebted to me, but it is I who is indebted to you. So please, take the act of love and a desire to return your favors."

  
The fire continued to crackle, casting a warm light on the two. It was warm on the crisp night, and it felt pleasant to the skin, both of which soaked the warmth like a sponge. She shut her eyes for just a moment, seeing through touch in the tips of her fingers. His hair was oily from sweat, which was produced during the encounter; multiple times The Archduke refused to bathe for the night, explaining that his wound would surely burn more than when it was inflicted upon him.

  
With a sigh, however, Juliet finally allowed her eyes to open again.

  
"Romeo." she began. "If you think that way, please, I would like to ask of you one small favor more."

  
His eyes brightened.

  
"With pleasure." he whispered. "Anything your heart wishes shall be what I act upon."

  
"Please then, allow me to observe your wound."

  
He paused, looking up at her, his eyes wide. He blinked a time or two, laying still, not exactly acting upon the wish as he promised.

  
"That..." he trailed off. "That would surely cause you more worry. Is that truly what you want?"

  
"Indeed. That is what I would like."

  
"It has been wrapped in bandages I was advised not to remove. Are you okay with such?" when she nodded, he closed his eyes, heaved a deep breath, then proceeded to attempt to being himself up. Being injured in the lower half of his body, it was a difficult task, for the muscles which had been stabbed cried out in pain, wishing not to be used. He grunted as a result, hissing as he squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately, Juliet hushed him, then pushed him onto his back gently.

  
"Nay, you need not move." she murmured. "Worry not, you have done enough."

  
He returned to lay, sweat gathering on his once dry forehead, his nose gulping air.

  
"Please, if you look, do not touch it..."

  
"Of course, of course." she softened. "I never planned on such, for I had foresight it would surely bring you great suffering." for a little while, they sat still, allowing The Archduke to catch his breath. When that time came, healthily and normally, Juliet stroked his forehead one last time. "I shall not take long." She assured.

  
Her fingers wandered down to his sleeping top, which she proceeded of carefully unbutton. Like ripping open the top of a crate bit by bit, each button allowed her eyes to see more of what lay beneath. First there was a chest hidden under the shadows of the cloth above it, a toned belly, and finally, the upper part of a hip. Resting on top of it was a snake of gauze just as he promised. Carefully, she pushed either side of the garment away, the top part further down his shoulders, the bottom half around his torso. The light from the fire gave her a brilliant view of him.

  
The bandage was wide, which struck her like a lance to the heart. Her eyes became blank, shoulders sinking, a sigh escaping her nostrils.

  
"The wound is large." she observed. "What a miracle that it did not strike anything beneath such as a stomach."

  
"Indeed." he whispered, his cheeks red. "I rejoice."

  
Juliet's cheeks too should have been red, and yet they were not. Her cheeks did not flush crimson, even as her eyes were free to explore the body she had never seen, but loved... She did not flush because she did explore it, and, after a while, she could not keep her mouth shut about it. Her finger traced one of the many points of interest, one on his chest, just above a nub.

  
"...And I too observe that your skin is littered with scars..."

  
"They are trifles and do not require your concern." he responded. "Please, worry not of them."

  
"I feel I must. From where did these come, love?"

  
Silent, the boy frowned deeper.

  
"There is no sole convict for them as a whole... Many of the smaller ones come from commoners and their pocket blades, commoners whose faces I cannot recall. A few others may have came upon me when I climbed trees and fell from them; I climbed trees on hot summer days, so, when I was alone, I would remove my tunic and venture into the orchardist's fields for an apple. The bark was not friendly to my skin, neither were rocks and sticks below."

  
She gazed at him with uncertainty.

  
"That cannot be all, can it?"

  
"Of course not."

  
"Then tell me." she eased closer. "I wish to know, sweet."

  
His eyes dulled.

  
"Well..." his finger lightly pointed to one where his rib cage hid, running over it lightly. "One boy, a friend of Arturo, had gotten a hound one day. When I asked to pet it..."

  
Juliet grew worried.

  
"When you asked...?"

  
"He allowed me, only to sic him on me promptly after. He had trained that hound to attack, myself being a more specific target... And this one here, I received it from my father who was drunken one night. He held me down as he poured hot candle wax on me. He was upset because I was late for a Court of Lords gathering... And here, my father as well, where fingernails were dug... He was angry when people did not do exactly as he asked, thus I was to be used..." he paused for a good while. "Dear me, I must sound as though I am naming each and every misfortune spelled upon me, feeling dreadful for my poor self, do I not?"

  
Like him, she too took a while to pause.

  
"Nay." she bent over to place her lips upon his gently. "I often do not know how to react to these sort of things, that is all."

  
He grinned widely.

  
"Your improvisations are quite effective." he commented, motioning his desire for another. "If I say more, will I receive more?"

  
Flushing suddenly, she attempted to turn her gaze away in hiding.

  
"I-I suppose." she replied softly. "Tell me more... About your father... If you don't mind..."

  
"My father was not the most peasant of people as you are already aware. I know nothing of his childhood, nor his years as an adult anew, but I imagine them to be nothing short of marvelous, for he was raised in a noble home, the second most powerful family beneath Capulet. He must have been fed the finest of foods, lounged in the plushest of couches, slept on the warmest of beds, dressed in the most elegant of clothes... I know not where his wickedness sprouted." he brought his hand up then, where it glided over to the side. "I slew him there. In the center of his own room."

  
She followed his finger slowly, gazing at a spot on the ground. It looked no different than the rest of the room; such a detail frightened her, reminding herself blood spilled in a place least expected. It was eerie almost, seeing that was where a man spent his final moments. When she turned back to the boy, a chill rushed down her spine.

  
"And..." she started slowly. "What did you do after that?"

  
"I rushed back to my room to bathe the blood off of my body. It would be evidence against me should it remain."

  
"And you had not any clothes to rid yourself of? Surely your clothes bore at least one spec of indelible blood."

  
"Nay, I slew him nude for that very reason. I knew I would not be able to rid myself of the clothes anytime soon should they be stained with red, and burning them would be very suspicious. The ease of simply jumping into a bath would heighten, thus all evidence would be washed away.

  
She gazed down at him, terrified. Slowly, her hand left his forehead, and her heart, beating, quickened its pace. In her hands was a slight tremble.

  
"You planned it all meticulously." she commented. "Such frightens me."

  
"I expected such from you. You are gentle, very gentle and kind. You do not like to see others, good or bad, slain. I respect that." he replied, reaching up to cup her cheek. "But there is no need to be frightened. What means are there for me to prove I have no intentions of bestowing upon you a similar fate?"

  
"Well..." she whispered. "The favor you did for me today was among one of the greatest acts of sacrifice I have seen thus far. Seeing a man, drunken, baring a blade... I would have fled because I wanted to keep my life for myself."

  
She was surprised to hear him laugh.

  
"Then it is good to see I am not you." he chuckled. "I love you dearly. I am happy to take the wound for you to see you in good health. It is rewarding. It is an honor, I believe, for a man to take his woman's burdens on himself. I wish to steal them all pains from you, for you have stolen all of mine from me." he smiled softly. "Shall we retire beside the warmth of the fire tonight?"

  
Finally, her cheeks flushed.

  
"We?" she echoed, uncertain.

  
"I am not leaving you alone at night anymore, nor at dawn, for I no longer trust my people with you. Today was the day I received the fright of my life. I do hope you find understanding."

  
"O-Oh..." her lips replied back. "I do understand. I see. I can see why..." slowly, she adjusted herself, then led herself down on her side, placing her head atop his shoulder. "I do understand."

  
And yet, for some odd reason, Juliet could not keep her eyes, or her mind, off of that certain spot in the room.

 


	25. Execution

_Tybalt was a man, a man whose blood was very close to that of Juliet's. He explained calmly to Conrad he had the right to deem Juliet cousin, cousin due to his mother's side of the family. His mother, a woman named Volumnia, was the younger sister to the great Lord Orsino, the head of the house of Capulet and all of Neo Verona. Word has it she was a spunky soul, one who was rough, yet gentle, in play. Her brother, Orsino, loved his only sibling very much, much including who came from her, his nephew Tybalt._

_  
Tybalt had dark times ahead of him, however, when his mother fell ill and passed. His father, a man he had never met, was nowhere to been seen, and nowhere to take in the now motherless boy. Lovingly, Orsino took Tybalt into the space in which he roamed and raised him. But then, some odd years later, after the birth of Capulet's final child Juliet, a mysterious man appeared before the gates of the castle asking for Tybalt. The man claimed to be his father, and the resemblance was rather stunning. He, like the boy, bore black hairs atop his head and sea green eyes; their facial structure almost seemed like looking into a mirror. Orsino found trust in the stranger after intense questioning, convinced by the sheer amount of knowledge he harbored. And so, Tybalt went away from the castle, and certain death, to join his father in the countryside days away. He grew over the years, helping his loving father in a cottage on the side of a mountain; when he grew to the age of ten, about a year later in his new home, he received word of the tragic death of the house of Capulet from a gazette from town nearby. Enraged, he swore he would avenge his loving family, especially his dear uncle, by bringing their slayer to justice._

_  
Since, Tybalt trained himself in the woods in the way of combat, strengthening his arms and legs, polishing skill and accuracy. His father, an honest and noble man, encouraged him in his endeavors, and supplied him with additional weapons to hone. Over the years, Tybalt grew into a powerful man, one to be reckoned with. On the day after his twentieth birthday, when he was assured that his father was financially stable, he left home atop a dragonsteed with intents to land in the great capital of Neo Verona, armed and dangerous. However, he only arrived to discover that his target, Montague, had just recently been slain, by his own son of all people. At first, Tybalt respected the new Archduke for doing such a deed, only to promptly nurse a newfound hatred for him, for he bore witness to the near execution of the butcher, an innocent man._

_  
Tybalt lurked in the shadows of the city, watching, listening, and gathering information from bribed guards. He earned his bread by winning knife throwing contests in the tavern, stabbing the new Archduke square in the forehead on a board each and every night. In the meantime, he would maintain a good eye on the castle, waiting for the real thing to emerge. He never seized the opportunity to attack him, to his dismay, but instead discovered new information when he hit the jackpot: a convent on the far end of the city full of nuns which were willing to talk. When he walked inside, he was welcomed kindly._

_  
"Good morrow." he greeted sternly, his face hard as usual._

_  
"Likewise to you, sir." replied one. "Have you come to pray?"_

_  
"Nay, I have not, I have come to ask questions. What can you tell me about the Archduke?"_

_  
"Ah, the Archduke..." she replied slowly. "You have come to the correct place, but the incorrect person. I am the youngest nun here, therefore I am not aware of details. Sister Diana is the most familiar with the Archduke, I shall lead you to her if she is not in prayer."_

_  
And so, Tybalt was led through the halls of the convent, eventually emptied into a room with a middle aged woman, who sat before a book. Upon his arrival, she looked up to him, listening to the younger nun's explanations._

_  
"Sister Diana, I have come to deliver a visitor. He harbingers inquires of The Archduke anew."_

_  
"The Archduke anew." echoed Diana. "I know much of him. If you wish to know, you must sit and listen closely."_

_  
Tybalt sat, and when he stood, he stood with his mind changed. When he left the convent, he left with his head to the ground, it's cogs turning inside. When he looked up to the sky, cloudy and gray, he heaved a sigh, then shut his eyes lightly, recalling what Diana had said unto him._

_  
"The Archduke's mother resided here has a nun year ago, that is before she was slain by her former husband Leantes. Oh please, if you are angry with Romeo, I ask you offer him your sympathy, for he was been deceived that it was kin of Capulet that slew his dear mother, not his cruel father. He has been treated badly in boyhood, therefore he is not keen on mercy, nor kindness as the Lord teaches. However, I do believe he is capable of returning what he receives; if you offer kindness to him, I assure you he can offer kindness back. Go now, and be gentle with him, for he is more fragile than he may first appear."_

_  
And thus, Tybalt stood still, pondering. The blades crossed on his back suddenly felt wrong for being there. Because of this, his eyes narrowed._

_  
"So, a deceived, heart broken Archduke..." he reflected to himself. "What is there for me to do, I wonder..."_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One day, as Conrad, Francisco and and Antonio sat at the table, lightly taking in their lunch soup, there suddenly sounded a boom. Immediately, the lot perked in alarm, much including Cordelia, who sat in the corner, folding laundry. Soon after, there came the stout Curio rushing up the stairs, urgency on his face.

  
"Come quickly!" he exclaimed. "Tybalt informed me of an event in the square! It concerns our Juliet!"

  
Not a thing was placed above the statement; the lot of them abandoned everything, soup and laundry alike, then rushed after the man who had just arrived, hurrying to pay ear and eye to each thing which occurred in the event. As they rushed through the lobby of the theatre, there stood Willy, watching in surprise as they passed without a word.

  
Tybalt stood to meet them outside the front doors, joining them in the sprint. Though the square was a hasty trip, never did they feel they arrived fast enough, for they were greeted by a crowd of people gathered around the platform. Again, the Carabinieri were atop it, armed with their spears and swords, pushing people from climbing aboard. Upon seeing such a scene, Conrad's heart froze.

  
"Tybalt!" he exclaimed. "Your word has it this involves Lady Juliet?"

  
"Nowhere near directly, rest assured." answered the young man, his arms crossed. "But still, her name was mentioned. Somehow, some way, something occurred with her in the center. Regardless of what it shall be, I know it will bring valuable information."

  
The crowd screamed, declaring injustice, even though they knew not of what it concerned. Still, ignoring them, the Carabinieri brought a man on the platform, another delivering a scroll of paper to the leader: Cerimon. It was obvious, even from as far back as the were, the man brought on stage in cuffs was a handsome man. His arms were large and beefy, his jaw defined, his skin flawless; he bore the obvious marks of nobility, money, and luxury. The sight baffled them, only to puzzle them later.

  
"I don't believe it!" shouted Antonio over the crowd. "The man looks as though he hails from the castle!"

  
"I reckon that is because it is so." Curio corrected. In doing so, Cordelia eased closer to her brother, Francisco, worry clouding her eyes.

  
"If so, wherefore is he led to a guillotine? Has The Archduke lost his mind and begun executing his own nobles? Those who support him?"

  
Tense, Francisco held on to her.

  
"I know not. Best we listen to discover."

  
And sure enough, they would soon discover, for the man holding the scroll, Cerimon, unraveled the article in his hands. He cleared his throat, prepared to speak. Even so, only few paused to listen; the rest continued to shout, yelling in fury, yelling death to The Archduke. Over the ruckus, they could barely make out what the man spoke.

  
"On behalf of The Royal Archduke of Neo Verona, Lord Romeo Candore Van DeMontague, on this day the nobleman Lord Leonardo DeVitis shall hereby be executed by means of beheading! He has been found guilty of assaulting His Majesty's lover, Lady Juliet of the House of Crespo! Henceforth shall he be removed from this world!"

Antonio, astonished, gasped.

  
"Crespo!" he echoed. "They speak of our Juliet! Our Juliet! That man tried to rape her!"

  
"Heavens!" Francisco commented with horror. "And he is taken to be beheaded for such! Though I am one for justice, I never saw such a crime punishable by something as severe as death!"

  
Frowning, Tybalt stepped forth, his eyes squinting.

  
"Fascinating." he murmured lowly. "To think The Selfish Archduke would be so protective of her..."

  
"Or possessive." Conrad butt in, half arguing. "He could see our Juliet as property of his, a thing more than a person. Like a child that is angry when another picks up his toy, he selfishly punishes those who use, or try to use, her. I can envision the type of person he is doing such a thing, seeing that Lady Juliet is growing into a beautiful, and voluptuous, young woman. Any young man without common sense would treat her no different than a trophy on a shelf."

  
The crowd grew reckless as the man was set down on the guillotine, his head fastened beneath the blade hanging above. Grief took over his face, terror in his eyes, for he knew had time has come. Despite the angry exclamations, the Carabinieri wasted no time to complete the act; with a call from Cerimon, the man was brought to his end, half of him landing in a basket. Horror-filled cries followed as articles, any articles available, were thrown onto the stage, striking all over like a ballista of missiles. Even Antonio, still young, shielded his eyes afterwards, breathing heavily. Gently, however, Conrad set a hand on his grandson's shoulder, rubbing it softly in apology.

  
The rest, seeing decapitation as no mere stranger, averted their eyes, their faces stale as they listened to the swears and curses the townspeople had to offer to the stage. Though Leonardo was a man who came awful close to committing a dastardly act, he was still a man, one who needed at least a small amount of respect. When nothing more occurred, such as word from the Carabinieri, the group left the scene, heading back to the theatre with their heads down.

  
Unbeknownst to them, however, several upon several miles away, on a high balcony of the castle, there sat The Archduke and Juliet, watching the scene from above. She was terrified at the sight, even with so much space in between; she could hear her people crying for justice, not to the man beheaded, but to the man sitting next to her, gripping her hand tensely. When she turned to him, he immediately returned her gaze.

  
"Worry not." he assured calmly. "No longer henceforth shall any think nor try to bring harm unto you, for they know the same shall occur to them."

  
"He surely had a family, though..."

  
"You are too merciful." he retorted quickly. "The world is a vulture, waiting for you to die so that it may feast on your flesh. There are few you can trust, and the rest you cannot turn your back on, lest they attack while you are not looking. If you see only good in people, sinister or not, you will have yourself killed very quickly." he rose to his feet, offering a hand down to her. "Come. I will take you from here since I feel you no longer wish to watch."

 


	26. Chasing

For years, long before she even cared about such matters, Coredlia, the woman a hand or so years ahead of her, had always told Juliet about boys and how they liked to 'chase.' Years ago, when Cordelia first brought this up, the subject was strange and confusing to her, yet as time carried on, things gradually began to make more and more sense.

  
 _"Listen now, Juliet."_ Cordelia had said, brushing her hair before a mirror, alone together in her room. _"Soon here, if you do not already, you will begin taking interest in people of similar age, but the opposite sex. I know you will feel as though you cannot permit those feelings when you have to dress as a boy all the time, but I want to tell you now, do not discriminate them. Having a mate is an important part in your life, and soon, when the time comes in which you no longer have to wear a silly wig and lower your tone, you will be free to humor these emotions."_

  
 _"Ew, liking boys? Cordelia, do relieve me of your jokes and say no more!"_ she had exclaimed in disgust.

  
_"Now, now, Juliet; if you know well, I suggest you give ear to my counsel, for I am to teach you how to behave like the lady you shall grow to be. One of the most important things about being attracted to boys, something I cannot stress enough, is to never pursue the man of interest. In that stead, you must wait patiently for the man to come approach you."_

  
_"I say unfair."_ Juliet grumbled. _"Must a woman wait in her loneliness until a man finally decides to come and ask her to be his housewife? There is not much a woman can do without a husband, wherefore must she starve, hoping the man, or any man for such a matter, approaches her?"_

  
Cordelia ran the brush through the girl's long red hair another time.

  
_"Do not believe I am anymore fond of the idea than you, Juliet. That is just the way men are wired to behave. Men like to earn their woman's love, so I've noticed. For a lack of better words, if the woman simply gives him whatever he desires without a second thought, or chases him as though she too has the mind of a man, he becomes bored with her, then moves on to another in search of that satisfaction he craves."_

  
Juliet, angry, crossed her arms, then released a huff.

  
 _"Pigs."_ she growled. _"The fault is not ours for being women."_

  
 _"Oh, Juliet..."_ Cordelia ran a hand through her locks once more. _"Strong willed as always. You will be a hassle to get the reins upon once you reach the age to like boys..."_

  
So, after all these years, Juliet recalled the conversation happily, then took Cordelia's words with intents of application. This went on only to have her discover that the whole 'chase' thing did not work out the way she had originally figured.

Sometimes, she would turn away when The Archduke went to plant his lips on hers, explaining that she was not in the mood. She would not leech to him at night beneath the warmth of the covers. She would only eat the strawberries under the gazebo as long as it was her fingers delivering them to her mouth, not his. All of this was done with the purpose of pushing him further, to 'earn' what he desired, which would ultimately make him more content.

  
All of it was for naught, though, for each time she denied him permit, he would not push on, nor try to convince her otherwise. His face became sad before he gave up. He gave up. She could not believe him at first, seeing how weak-willed her dear was. But, of course, after further pondering, she would be more lenient on him, baring understanding.

  
Life had left him weak, too tired to 'chase' after her as a healthy young lad. He was the one not too far from the starting line, lying on the ground with a wounded knee, pain in each heave. In the end, she decided doing such a thing was not a good idea, and she would no longer push him away each time he leaned against her. When the time came in which he decided to try again, long after she changed her mind, he eyed her strangely, then did it again to see the same results. He did not say a word; he only smiled, then continued.

  
Juliet was fierce at digging up information about The Archduke whenever she found herself alone, primarily when her other was at work with his Archduke responsibilities. She found Benvolio, a close friend now, to be an invaluable resource for answers. When they sat outside in the courtyard, enjoying the day, she would often inquire of him many things. Being the understanding, and gentle, boy he was, Benvolio gladly tolerated them, answering them truthfully. He knew why she asked of him so much full and well, and her causes he advocated without a second thought.

  
"Tell me, Benvolio," Juliet had said one day, gazing up at the clear blue sky. "For a cousin of Romeo, the two of you are not quite as close as I would expect; wherefore?"

  
Shortly after, though, Benvolio's gaze grew sad all of a sudden, and that gaze fell to the ground.

  
"Ah, an excellent question, My Lady..." he began hesitantly. "I am not entirely sure why that is, but by no means does that mean I'm barren of theories. I believe he is angry with me."

  
"Angered?" she echoed.

  
"Ay. For seldom giving my time to him in youth." he eyed her. "He was not well liked, I'm much sure you know. He was without any family or acquaintances to befriend, that is with the exception of myself. I would have gladly played with him, but my father forbade such a thing, for he had gardened an intense disliking towards the late Leantes. The cause was reasonable, since we met the edge of losing our noble title because my father simply voiced his opinion at a Court of Lords gathering."

  
"I see." she observed. "And he was barren of knowledge of such?"

  
"I have figured." Benvolio answered, somber. "And my, how I want him to have understanding. In the end, I ultimately wish I had explained everything to him in my younger days, so that he would not feel so abhorred." slowly, he leaned back, gazing long fully at the clouds. "Sometimes I wonder, Juliet, what sort of change that would have made. Would that have made my cousin less strict? Would my company in his youth have made him better to others? Would it have mended his relationship with me, his own blood cousin?"

  
Juliet, as slow as he, ran a thumb over the bone of her jaw.

  
"He listened to you that day, when that man intruded in my room. As he held that blade, prepared to exact revenge on the stranger, he stopped when you exclaimed. I believe he respects you more, since you came to my aid while he was oblivious. Have you noticed? He gives you a faint smile when you pass every now and so, though it is burdensome to see."

  
Benvolio's expression brightened before long, his eyes glistening.

  
"Oh truly?" he inquired. "I have yet to notice. My, does that buff my day! I shall watch for it the next time I greet the two of you."

  
The next time they did see one another, it was in the training grounds, where Juliet sat. She paid audience to The Archduke in the center of the land, practicing his swordplay with fellow soldiers. He was impressive, she had to say; similar to her own ways of combat, he prioritized disarming an enemy by sweeping a blade from his hand, allowing it to fly away. The only difference was the fact that he would do this only if there were no opportunities open to him; if one did happen to show its face, he would immediately take it and strike his foe hard.

  
She clapped after defeating his most recent opponent, celebrating quietly, when Benvolio showed at her side, paying eye himself. When he joined in with the applaud, The Archduke took notice of them, then approached them.

  
"Fair cockcrow, cousin Benvolio." he murmured.

  
Benvolio, with a bow, gave him a grin.

  
"Likewise to you, Your Majesty. Your swordplay promises skill."

  
"Indeed." Juliet agreed. "I sit proudly as I watch you. Your arms are strong as they swing, your grip firm when the blade collides with another. I am impressed, dear."

  
Though he did not exactly smile to his cousin, The Archduke did smile to her as he wiped away tears of sweat beading at his forehead. When he went to grab his tunic, relaxing on the top of a stone fence, he sighed.

  
"If I am not the strongest in the land, I will not be able to defend you as I should." he replied softly. "I need to practice more often."

  
"Oh, thou jest." Benvolio commented. "You are already strong as you are. If you get any stronger, your arms will not fit in that tunic anymore."

  
"Nay, there are men stronger than I, cousin." The Archduke returned. "It is evident you've never set foot in the land of the working commoners." suddenly after, though, his head raised, and his tunic returned to the fence. He turned to his lovely in a matter of second, observed her, then blinked. "Juliet." he said. "Please, would you come with me? I should teach you the art of swordplay."

  
Juliet, no stranger to the practice, felt a flush creep across her cheeks as Benvolio's mouth sank into a frown.

  
"Hear now, Your Majesty." he piped. "Where all respect is due, swordplay is no practice for a lovely young woman such as herself. Not to mention she is covered by a dress..."

  
"I believe it necessary for her to learn." he replied, her tone slightly more forceful than before. "The world is a dangerous place; should she ever be in a position where she is alone, she must have knowledge of how to defend herself, lest her life be wasted." he eyed her before striking back over to the grounds. "Come love, I promise to be gentle."

  
She thought to herself as she followed, giggling beneath her breath. No need; she, gentle or not, she could most likely stand her ground against him. Granted, the pesky dress may hinder her from winning, but she would at least put up a decent fight.   
At last, there came the legendary battle between The Red Whirlwind and The Archduke... Except it was less direct and less dramatic.

  
Now armed, the two faced one another in the open, gazing at one another. The Archduke kept a smile, unaware of Benvolio's audience. When the time came, he checked her stance, then her hand's position on the hilt. He eyed her strangely then after.

  
"Curious." he commented. "You must be a natural at swordplay. Do you watch often? Practice in the shadows despite your sex forbidding it?"

  
A pinch shy, she turned away, unsure of what the response would be.

  
"In all actuality, Your Majesty..." she murmured. "My housemates thought the same as you; a woman should have knowledge of how to defend herself in a time of need. I was taught swordplay at a young age... Since, I have sharpened the skill with the intents to make use of it whenever it is needed."

  
Strangely enough, his eyes brightened.

  
"I see." he replied calmly. "Bless them. Shall I test your merit?"

  
"I-If... If you wish..."

  
"Come then; let us spar. Please, shed no mercy on me."

  
And so, with a pinch of hesitation beforehand, she charged at him and gave the hardest blow she could muster. From a distance, where Benvolio watched, there was a brow raised. The two went at it, clashing metal upon metal, pushing one another back and forth. Juliet, shaking, tightened her grip, prepared for any moment in which he would try to disarm her. No such thing occurred for a good while, even after they separated, pacing in front of one another.

  
But then, that moment came; she huffed, then went at him once more, prepared to try her own technique. He went to block her blow, but she decisively swept her blade against his, aiming for the hilt.

  
He saw it through.

  
To her shock, The Archduke pushed against her force, sending her away before she could complete her goal. Tense, she recollected herself, then tightened her grip once again. For the first time, he was the one to make the first hit, starting with a charge. The situation was almost identical to the last... Except the was one thing. The Archduke knew she would go for the block, and he planned on it. As soon as she brought the blade up, the tip of his dove to her hand, dangerously jamming between her fingers. With his wrist, he flung it from her hold, sending it off to land on the ground somewhere else.

  
Smiling, he brought the broad side of his blade to her head, tapping it against her gently.

  
"Bonk." he sounded. "I got you." flushing, she giggled with him, listening to Benvolio clap from he sidelines. "My, you are quite skilled for a woman, lovely. I am more afraid of you now." he handed her his blade, then went to retrieve hers. "Please, allow me to correct your technique so that you may beat me next time."

  
Gladly, she allowed him.


	27. The Ultimate Confliction

The hour was nigh; the hour in which she would finally ask him an important question had drawn very, very near. Her stomach grew warm linger on it, raging with fear and anxiety. Lucky for her, she had plenty of time to think it over to make any corrections she wanted. At last, when she made up her mind, she nervously rolled over, shifting the blankets, then reached her hand out.

  
She cupped his cheek, stoking it with her thumb gently. It roused him, pulling open his eyelids like curtains. The moonlight peeking inside by the window granted her enough vision to see and watch him gaze at her, a smile slowly taking his lips.  
"Sweet?" he whispered groggily, yet softly. He brought a hand to his cheek as well, shielding the top of hers and squeezing it lovingly. "You are still awake, I see..."

  
"Yes," she murmured. "I am. I have been intending to inquire sometime of you... A favor, if I must be precise."

  
His eyes, tired, looked heavy.

  
"A favor..." he echoed. "Of what sort?"

  
"Well..." she scooted closer, pressing herself against him to soak his warmth. In attempt to win his favor, she gifted unto him a smile, slight and adoring. "I would like to return home sometime or another... My housemates have surely worried themselves ill, and I worry for them as well for such a reason."

  
He moaned as his eyes shut again. The sheets rustled as he brought himself up.

  
"Oh, sweet." he whispered. "Is now a time to converse over this?"

  
"Oh please. I would like an answer to know in he very least... I know you are sleepy. If you need time to rouse, I shall wait patiently."

  
Sitting upright, The Archduke forced his eyes open, using all the strength he could muster to keep them that way. He gazed at Arpeggio, who lay at the foot of the might bed, curled up in a fluffy, but obese, ball. After rubbing his eyes roughly, he watched her follow him up. At his side, she leaned against his shoulder lightly, placing her temple on its top.

  
"So you wish to return back to your home among the commoners..." he murmured, thinking to himself. His head sank. "I see."

  
Careful, she peered into his face.

  
"Be there a matter you've not grown not fond of?" she inquired.

  
"Yes, to be truthful." he answered. "I am simply disappointed. That is all." his arm went to wrap around her torso, holding her close. "It will be very lonely within these halls when you have taken your leave... How I sometimes wish I could hold you as my prisoner so that you may stay."

  
Her cheeks flushed suddenly.

  
"Well... I must say... Being held as prisoner, by no means, sounds appealing. Thou jest."

  
He giggled with her.

  
"I figured. I would never do such a thing if it brought you unhappiness."

  
"Oh? So do you have an answer to my question then?"

  
"Yes..." he murmured slowly. "I shall return you to your people very soon. Once the Flower Festival is over, I am thinking. I would like to have you accompany me on my annual trip to the convent during that time."

  
She gazed up to his face.

  
"During the Flower Festival...?"

  
"Yes. Once a year, I pay a visit to the convent as the festivities progress, since it was my mother's favorite event." he looked away. "You may call it a tradition I had begun for myself. But, since you have become such an enormous part of my life, I wish to include you. The nuns would love to meet you, the woman their little boy had come to love. I do believe you would grow a fondness towards the place, since the garden is lovely and adorned with irises." he looked back at her again. "Would you fancy that? Would you wish to come with me, where I will take you home promptly afterwards?"

  
Allowing her eyes to close, she heaved a sigh through her nose, relaxing.

  
"Yes." she murmured. "I would like that very much, and I will eagerly look forward to spending that time with you."

  
"Excellent." he replied, tightening his embrace. "Let us return to rest, then, shall we?" and, gently, he lowered himself back down, tugging her along with him. When their heads hit the pillows, they giggled, embracing one another tightly and remaining all through the night.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Curio slapped a pile of maps on the table. Some curiously remained on the surface, while others made their escape by rolling off. Regardless, the man used his only good eye to stare at Conrad, who sat across with his arms crossed.

  
"Every single map of the castle." uttered he. "And there is no way to tell if they are outdated."

  
Conrad, with a frown, narrowed his eyes as he leaned over to observe one, running his finger along the lines. Francisco, calm and collected as usual, raised a brow.

  
"Curious." he commented. As usual, he knew Antonio was hiding behind the doorframe, listening in the dark. So, because he needed to, Francisco turned to eye the hider. "Antonio. Answer me a question."

  
The boy departed from behind with a pair of wide eyes.

  
"H-How did you-"

  
"I recall you uttering rambles of Juliet and The Archduke being highly fond of one another, am I mistaken?"

  
Antonio, with a flush, slowly nodded his head.

  
"Y-Yes, Francisco... And I am sure you also recall the Carabinieri deeming her The Archduke's lover next to the guillotine a week ago?"

  
"Yes. I do." Francisco ran a finger along his jaw. "That surely must mean she is being treated as though she too rules over the country..."

  
Suddenly, from the shadows of a corner, there emerged the dark and mysterious Tybalt, his eyes hard and observant over the map stretched across the surface of the table. Swiftly, his finger glided down to a square drawn on it with sureness, a frown on his expression.

  
"Then she resides here." he muttered. "It is in this room my uncle once resided; the grand bedroom, suited only for an Archduke. It is most likely she rests next to our villain during the night. And if not..." the finger glided over to the square next to it. "She resides in the bedroom next door: the second grandest room, suited for The Archduke's wife, The Archduchess."

  
Conrad adjusted the lenses on his face.

  
"A plausible theory." he commented. "But even if you are correct, Lady Juliet will be heavily guarded whether The Archduke is within her presence or not."

  
"Do any of you suppose The Archduke would defend her should we attempt to draw near?" questioned the ordering Antonio. In response, Tybalt nodded stiffly.

  
"I spoke with the nuns in the convent, who knew him since his youth. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty with other's blood, just as he is not afraid to have other's hands dirty with his blood. I reckon he would be the first to confront us..."

  
"Then getting her, not finding her, will be the knot in the rope." Conrad observed bitterly. "Of course, it is never as simple as we'd like..."

  
"We storm the castle then." Curio voiced. "Our Archduke may show muscle, but his cannot face against an entire lot of passionate rebels all at once. We overpower The Archduke and retrieve Lady Juliet by force, then flee into hiding the soonest we can."

  
Antonio's eyes widened.

  
"Retreat to where though?"

  
"Mantua." Conrad grumbled. "Mantua would be the best place to flee. The majority of our supporters reside there, as well as supporters we may not know are supporters. The name of Montague has no reign there, even though it is within jurisdiction." he looked up to the single eyed man. "Curio, your ideal is the only option left to us. We cannot allow Juliet to linger within those walls any longer, so we must act now, lest we may soon regret it."

  
Francisco, with a finger running through her hair, released a sigh.

  
"Be it so then, leader. Have you a time to commence the retrieval?"

  
"During the spring." Conrad replied. "We will attack during the festivities of the Flower Festival, guard shall be at its lowest then."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

And soon, the Flower Festival came. On its first day of the beautiful thing called life, hooves clicked against cobblestone, and wings flapped in landing. A steed stood in the courtyard of the city's covent, neighing in interest as it observed the many flowers surrounding it. It delivered two riders; a boy, who slipped off its back, and a girl, who accepted the hand offered to her. As she too slid off the mighty creature, one last set of hooves followed after them, presenting a man handling a pair of suitcases.

  
"Your Majesty." he called softly. "Your luggage; what shall I do with it?"

  
The boy, The Archduke, turned to him, reached out, and relieved the man of his burden.

  
"Thank you, you have done enough. Return to the castle if you will."

  
"You... You do not wish of me to handle them ins-"

  
"Nay, I've arms the ability to operate. Go now."

  
Boggled by the strange behavior, the servant obeyed without another word, boarding the beast before leaving them alone. Once they were alone, standing in the wake of the wind created by the creature, The Archduke blew a feather which had landed on his shoulder, then turned to the woman at his side with a smile.

  
"Welcome." he said happily. "Behold, the convent I have rambled over time after time."

  
With a flush, she smiled back.

  
"It's... It holds a mighty amount of beauty. The care taken in nurturing the garden is evident, so I see by each spotless bloom."

  
Each bloom was that of a white iris, delicate, yet strong against the powerful wind. The two toured the garden for a while, their luggage towed by The Archduke, adoring the sight which was the fruits of labor. They reminded her of home, back when Cordelia would sometimes bring home a blossom and set it in a vase in her quarters. A feeling of warmth pooled inside of her, demanding she take a moment to breathe, then set a hand over her chest.

  
"Does the sight please you so much that you cannot function?" laughed her partner, nudging her playfully. She laughed with him, leaning against his shoulder.

  
"Almost." she replied softly. "They bring to mind many tender things, you see."

  
"They sound positive. That is good." he turned to the entrance of the building. "The nuns have received word of our coming, therefore our room should be prepared. Would you care to go inside? I can there introduce you to the women I have known since youth."

  
"Youth." she echoed, giggling. "You still are in youth, thou jest."

  
The inside was nice. Of course, not as nice as the royal castle, but nice nonetheless. Nice for the commoner's district. It was upper class, similar to Willy's grand theatre. They were greeted by a party of women, all of which departed from a room, running into him by accident. One of them, an older woman, The Archduke appeared to recognize.

  
"Ah, Your Majesty." she curtsied in honor. "Pardon me, I heard you not when you walked inside..." when her head rose, her eyes met with the brown of Juliet's. A smile infected her lips. "And I see you brought your lovely along with you! My, how darling does she look; young and pale, eyes filled with will and strength." she brought her hand's to the girl's cheeks, running her thumbs along wither side. "Yes, yes, boy, I approve of her."

  
With a flush, Juliet gave her an awkward grin.

  
"Gracious." she whispered. "I am pleased to hear."

  
"What is your name, lovely?"

  
"J-Juliet, Sister..."

  
"Diana, dearest.

  
"Sister Diana. A pleasure to meet you..."

  
"Sister." piped The Archduke suddenly, once clearing his throat. "I presume you to be in good health?"

  
"Of course, Your Majesty." Juliet's face was relieved of her invading hands. "I see and know that look in your eyes; you are tired and in need of a midday nap. Come. I will show you to your room. We have prepared it to hopefully suit your liking."   
It was the same room as every year; the room which once belonged to Lady Portia. It was clean, not a piece of furniture moved even the slightest, a nice few layers of blankets freshly atop a bed, a candle melting away. To Juliet, it was almost a prime example of a homely room, one she would not mind staying in for a while.

  
After setting down the luggage, The Archduke plopped down on the bed, his long arms stretched out, his palms open and relaxed. With a sigh, he eyed her as she observed the room further.

  
"Here we are." he murmured tiredly. "Our room, love."

  
"Your mother's?"

  
He nodded, and shortly after, she too relieved herself on the bed, laying next to him, the back of her head atop his arm. Gazing up at the ceiling, she set her hands over her belly, her eyes blinking away sleepiness.

  
"Are we to take a nap?" she inquired.

  
"Should that be what you like..." he replied, his voice deep and sluggish. "Whatever you are to... Like to... Do..." and the next thing she knew, his eyes were shut, his breathing deep. Needless to say, she decided to join him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days have passed since, chewing halfway through the week. Something was to happen on this night. Something large. Something unexpected. Something potentially problematic. Very problematic, actually.

  
Conrad had gathered together the fiercest of loyalists, all motivated to win back the throne for the name of Capulet. He looked at them all as they hid in a warehouse of secrecy. All stood armed, armed thanks to a woman who lay in a grave. He gave a moment of silence to her, his eyes closed in respect.

  
When his gaze was revived, he cleared his throat, his brows furrowed. A hand raised to traps the lot's attention. Curio, at his side, cleared his throat.

  
"See here now!" he demanded sternly. The room quieted, all eyes on the elder, who stood before them with a frown.

  
"Good evening, mighty men of valor." he began. "I do pray that tonight you accept your fate should death come to take you. I promise, though, should such a thing occur, you go with honor and respect, for you go with a righteous cause. I thank you for your hand in retrieving our Archduchess. Through a string of unfortunate events, she no longer lingers with us, but within the walls of the castle, where The Archduke, her sworn enemy, resides. She cannot keep her innocent act for long. We must have her back with us, and we shall then flee to Mantua! In a month's time then after, we will retrieve one thing more; the throne! The end of the reign of Montague is nigh! May the honor in the name of Capulet be resurrected!"

  
The lot screamed with passion, unable to contain themselves. They cried for the death of Montague, for roses to wilt. They demanded it be trampled until it's crimson petals are nothing but dust, where it will blow away, scattering in the wind, never to come together again. Conrad and his right hand men smiled at the sight, knowing that victory is bound to be assured.   
Francisco, with a delighted sigh, ran a hand through his long golden hair.

  
"Let it be, let it be, beneath the Iris banner, let it be." he murmured. "My does such a chant warm my heart."

  
Tybalt, at his side, blinked.

  
"Then let all our hearts be warm. Chant."

  
And the room was then filled with chanting, all praising the name of the one true house.

  
It wasn't loud enough for Juliet to hear; she stood a long ways away from where her people cried her name. In the yard of the convent, next to a pond, she took a moonlight stroll with The Archduke, her sworn enemy. He constantly advised her caution, fearing she may slip inside. She found them to be silly, seeing that it was nothing but water. Perhaps the drake wading around through it would attack her? It wasn't likely.

  
"Juliet." spoke The Archduke, gently grasping her wrist. "Surely a woman does not like her clothes wet."

  
"Water will not kill me, nor will it destroy the stitches in my clothes." she playfully poked his stomach. "Thou paranoid boy."

  
"Pardon me." he laughed, trying to poke her back. "I cannot help but worry for you."

  
When she dodged him, he went in for a second attempt. She dodged again, nimbly, but playfully. They danced around the edge of the pond, balancing on pebbles and rocks. But one of those rocks was a jokester, one which enjoyed a good laugh. When The Archduke homed in for one last attempt, the rock betrayed him, then threw him inside the water with a mighty splash.

  
The sight brought Juliet to bellow, tears gathering in her eyes. When he resurfaced, his hair matted down and soaked, his eyes narrowed, a flush spreading across his face.

  
"Oh, love, be careful! You may fall in and have your clothes wet!" cried the girl in laughter. "Do not slip in!"

 

As the drake scrambled away from him, The Archduke gave her a sly smirk, his body dripping with water. His mouth departed from the pond.

  
"Juliet?" he began. "I trust you can swim?"

  
She giggled.

  
"Fairly well." she replied. "Though, not quite as well as yourself, amphibian."

  
He dove down into the water, disappearing into the darkness. Eager, she watched to see what would come next, kneeling at the pond's edge and gazing intently inside. She halfway knew what to expect, seeing that he was likely to draw close. And, sure enough, he leaped out of the pool, water spraying everywhere. His arms, strong and inescapable, wrapped around her, then drug her inside. They both went under this time, bowing under the power of life-stealing water. When they resurfaced, they were laughing, clinging to one another for warmth.

  
"Look at you. Now you have us both wet." she acted as though she scolded.

  
"Oh? I thought water would not kill you, nor destroy the stitches in your clothes. Wherefore would you suddenly complain?" he poked back happily. Quickly, he snuck a kiss on her lips, drawing a wider grin. She returned the favor quickly as well, soon having the two passing them back and forth, their noses rubbing roughly against each other. Each pair grew deeper than the last.

  
Of course, that sort of thing would not last forever. A voice from afar called out to them, and a light came into view. When they saw it, they halted, the mood vanquished and replaced with wonder.

  
"Who goes there! Who has fallen in the pond?" inquired the voice. Before they decided to reply, Diana came into view, the hand before her baring a lantern. She gazed from the pond's edge with a frown. "You children." she scolded. "Should you stay in there any longer you will surely catch your death! Get out and sit before a fire!"

  
They did find themselves before a fire then after. In their room, before the fireplace, the two sat, drying their skin in a fresh set of sleeping clothes. The warmth was nice after being submerged in cold water. They took to it well.

  
They together had just finished picking apart a small chicken, roasted and seasoned with spices. They took well to that too, seeing how many times they licked the juices from their fingers. When they finished, the bones discarded of, the sat still, listening to the crackling of the fire.

  
She was on the verge of sleep, her head resting on his shoulder, when his voice suddenly called her out. Her eyes opened, and they darted up to him in wonder. There, she found him gazing at her blankly.

  
"Juliet." he said. "I have a question for you."

  
"Oh?" she raised her head. "Of what sort?"

  
"It shall not bring me anger should you do not wish to answer..." he murmured. "Nay, I will not be angered. Rather, I shall discover understanding." he turned back to the fire. "For what reason do irises evoke tender memories to you? I am curious."   
A flush spread across her face, her heart catching fire. She tried her hardest not to tense.

  
"I love them, for I have been told by familial friends that my mother and father took well to them. Of course, many took well to them since the House of Irises reigned over the country at the time..." she silenced. "The land seemed like a brighter place then, where neighbors were kinder than they are now. War was no worry, and famine was rare. The sun shone brightly on the green grass, the cloudless sky blue. Larks sang away happily, chorusing with the whistles of toilers to create sweet, sweet songs."

  
The Archduke did not have much to offer in response to such a claim. He sat still, unmoving and silent. When that era ended, he pulled her closer.

  
"I see." he said. "That does sound like a better time... What I would give to revive such an era for you. I cannot. It is not within my power. Never can I convince the people of this land to like me, since I am the son of the tyrant Montague. I too have become a tyrant it would seem, or so many have led me to believe by their words and actions of malice."

  
"I am not angry at you for such." she murmured quietly. "I've a feeling you would take the opportunity of you have it open to you."

  
Slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His eyes shut.

  
"Forgive me." he whispered. "I am an awful person, Juliet. I do not deserve any kindness you have to offer me, whether it be your love or your concern. You are too good for me. I have wronged so many. I have done such awful things to others. My hands have committed deeds they should not have. My feet have wandered places they should not have. My mouth has spat words it should not have."

She heaved a sigh.

  
"I have wronged many myself. No man or woman is perfect, Romeo."

  
"But you are. You are a divine exception, love."

  
"Nay." she pat his cheek softly. "I have sinned many times, so many times I have lost count. I sometimes wonder how I walk beneath the weight." she smiled softly. "Is that not good? We are the same, both sinners, equally deserving of punishment." when silence followed, leading the two still before the fire, she set her head against his, heaving a delighted sigh. "Is now the time for bed?"

  
His eyes stared lazily at the fire for a little while longer before he nodded slowly. An arm took her beneath her knees, the other around her back, and he held her as he stood. After delivering her to the bed, setting her head stop the pillow gently, he planted his lips on her forehead briefly.

  
"Will you wait here for me?" he inquired.

"Oh, I suppose..." she replied with a smile. "It takes much not to run from this comfortable bed."

  
When he laughed back, he was walking away, heading for the corner of the room where their luggage sat. He dug through a bag for a short while, enough to spark curiosity inside of her. At last, with a fist clenched, he walked back over to her, his face straight and foreshadowing nothing. He kneeled next to the bed as though he prepared to pray, but instead chose to gaze at her intently. He asked for her hand when he set his fist atop the mattress.

  
She took it gently as he had asked, clutching it softly. The fist opened then, brushing the tips of his fingers on the top of her palm. They sat there for a while, staring at one another, trying to figure the other out. His face suddenly grew stern, to her surprise, causing her to wonder. His grasp tightened slightly, never rough.

  
"Juliet." he murmured over the crackling of the fire. "I would like you to move your hand."

  
Though she was hesitant, she obeyed slowly. Her palm left his, his fingers gently sliding off of her, leaving only an open hand atop the blanket. She stared at the heart of his palm, astounded, and somewhat alarmed.

  
It was a pair of small pieces of jewelry which rested in his palm. Both were rings of gold, simple and smooth, engraved with small words of endearment, one laying on top of the other. They glowed from the flame roaring in the distance, and very pleasing to the eye. A flush spread across her face as she observed the pair, her eyes widening.

  
"These..."

  
"You have touched my heart." he murmured. "And never before have I felt so loved by another... I wish to offer one of these to you, and should you accept, you accept the proposition of lifelong companionship. I adore you, and I shall even if you are to decline." he smiled slightly, his eyes brightening. "So then... Juliet? Would the honorable title as your husband be mine to wear?"

  
She froze. And all in a moment's worth, her family came back to mind. They have worked so hard. So very hard. They have worked hard to seat herself in the throne which was hers. Should she accept the ring, their endeavors would be for naught. He will receive what is hers, and it will never be regained... Unless there was an event of death.

  
Death.

  
She was on a mission to rid the country of him, was she not?

  
This ring would provide an advantage.

  
She would have access to the castle.

  
Her loyalists would have access to the castle should she invite them.

  
Yes.

  
She will accept.

  
Victory shall follow...

  
But deep down, she knew full and well she didn't accept the proposition just because of that...

 


	28. For Their Names

They awoke the following morning surprisingly late, so said a clock on the wall. When Juliet opened her eyes, he found his face just a little ways from her, his eyes gazing at her intently. With a flush creeping across her face, she blinked away sleepiness.

  
"Good... Good morrow." she greeted hesitantly. "For how long have your eyes been set upon me?"

  
"Regardless, it would not be enough time." he replied. "I can gaze at you forever with the sun shining on your face... It is reflected so greatly."

  
Her palm dared to slide forward, traveling beneath the sheets; she brought it to his cheek, cupping it gently. His eyes brightened in surprise, only to mellow in relaxation, a sigh escaping his nose. Against his cheek, he surely felt the cool touch of a golden ring wrapped around her finger.

  
"I trust you slept well?" he asked.

  
"You may." she ran her thumb over his cheek bone, rubbing it. He smiled contently.

  
"I take pleasure in hearing." he reached to pull her closer, embracing her. "It is a rather comfortable bed after all. Should we sleep longer? We have the whole day to ourselves."

  
She shut her eyes.

  
"Perhaps." she mused. "Sleep likes to draw me in..."

  
"The cold water from the pond may have a hand in such." he giggled. "I am happy to see we haven't caught our death just yet. I would not mind, though. If I am to die, I want to die next to you, or for your sake."

  
But across the city, inside the great and mighty castle, there sat a large group of men. They did not sleep well, for they sat on a hard, dank floor, one of their walls barred with metal. In the halls all through out the building, the floors were stained with crimson, weapons scattered all over. In the courtyard, where bodies of both men and steeds littered the cobblestone walkway, there lay pools, just like halls. Many of those men where from either side, fallen in the heat of battle.

  
Conrad gave respect for each and every man, tears welling inside his eyes. Were those deaths in vain? He was starting to believe that was so.

  
The loyalists stormed the castle the night before, armed and prepared to fight, as the festivities progressed. There were a number of men, all powerful and skilled, trailing behind Conrad's lead, negligent to abandon their responsibility. They flew over the walls atop steeds, ignoring the sky guard's demands which forbad they fly within their territory. Francisco, handy with a bow, silenced each and every one of them.

  
Upon landing within the grounds of the castle, the lot which rode hopped off, baring their weapons with confidence as they charged for the doors. Not a moment was wasted, though; Mercutio, temporarily in charge as The Archduke was absent, did not wait to sent out men to counter the attackers. Little did Conrad and his armature army know: The Archduke was a meticulous strategist. He had already devised plans, plans that would defend well against invaders should they dare to come knocking at his door.

  
Those plans, as well as a lack of numbers in the loyalist, were ultimately what led The Archduke to victory.

  
Many where struck down by the volley hidden behind a great, and tall, wall; one moment, the skies where clear, the next, it cried arrows, many which missed, others struck the attackers before they could flee. Calvary charged out of the gates at lightening speeds, only kept at bay with their equals, which stood in a significantly less number. Blade clashed against blade, and screaming sounded through the night; many women would now become widows.

  
At last their came a point where the lot of them, including their head, Conrad, were surrounded, blades hovering over their bodies. Breathing heavily, Conrad had no choice but to surrender, seeing that their lives were as good as gone should they decide to resist. With their heads hung low, they were led away, cuffed like criminals.

  
The dungeon was loaded like a zoo, crowded with what survivors were left. Despite this, it was quiet, quiet enough to hear each drop of water hit the floor. Conrad found himself sitting in the corner of his cell, a hand over his face. His cell mates, a handful of fellow loyalist and Francisco, watched him, giving him time in the silence.

  
"We covered grand amount of space... Even The Archduke's chamber and those residing next to it. She was nowhere to be seen. Not even The Archduke showed his face." rubbing his temples, the elder heaved a heavy sigh. "Our lady... She's... We could not find her..."

  
"I know her to be well." Francisco soothed comfortingly. "The Archduke appears to like her much. I would assume he has her in hiding someplace deep within the castle since he caught ear of our approaching. It is only sensible to have your loved ones in a safe place during such an hour of peril." he looked down at the man, frowning. "Worry not, Conrad, our lady is here somewhere. She is safe and healthy."

  
At that point, at the very end of the dungeon, the door creeped open, drawing of a long, eerie shriek. All of the men's eyes widened, and their heads peeked through the iron bars of their prisons, watching as a man slowly walked inside. A guard stood at other side of him, armed with a spear and dressed and armor. He was a young man, tall and lanky, yet sturdy, short black hair brushed down sleekly. He looked about the cold dungeon, his hands behind his back, his face stern.

  
Whoever the man was, not a soul recognized him.

  
"Good morrow, prisoners." his voice rang clearly though the room. "I have come on behalf of conversing with your leader. In which cell does he reside?"

  
With his brows furrowed, Conrad rose, a frown printed on his lips. His legs, tired and slow, delivered him to the bars of his containment.

  
"He resides here." he spoke.

  
The man approached him confidently.

  
"Hello then." he greeted. "I am Mercutio Donato DeMarchege, and it is I that Is appointed as His Majesty's royal advisor."

  
"And your Archduke? Where is he? Too frightened to show his face to those who breached his own castle?"

  
"So you would dream." Mercutio replied coolly. "Were you here with intentions to hurt him?"

  
Tense, Conrad felt his eyes narrow.

  
"Quite clearly." he retorted. "We come to deliver justice in the name of Capulet."

  
"You chose a dismal hour to strike then. His Majesty is not here." at the sign of shock in the elder's face, Mercutio continued. "He and his lovely departed from the castle yesterweek to lodge in the convent; he is across the city now. Being his advisor, I have been left in charge..." he chuckled. "Perhaps you'd care to kill me in his stead?"

  
Anger boiled in the man, and as the man smirked, he rammed his hands against the bars, gipping them tightly. He shook them around with fury, his teeth grinding against one another; his shoulders raised intensely.

"Criminal!" he shouted. "Lie to me not!"

  
"Supply me with a reason why I would lie." he returned.

  
His grip on the bars tightened.

  
"You... You..."

  
Francisco stepped forward, his face calm, yet stern.

  
"Tell me then, Royal Advisor." he spoke. "What sort of punishment shall you exact on us?"

  
"I am not in charge of that." Mercutio returned with a shrug. "His Majesty shall when he comes back home, which is very soon. Do not aspire the best when he returns to find his halls and courtyard stained with blood, however; you know how much he despises Capulet and all who follow him after all..."

  
And sure enough, when The Archduke caught ear of what had occurred from a messenger, Juliet knew the end of her time with him was drawing nigh.

  
The message arrived later that day, the day before they were to depart from the convent. A steed delivered a man, who urgently hopped from its back. Amongst the courtyard, where they stood adoring the irises, the man rushed to them, a letter in hand.

  
"Your Majesty!" he called as he rushed. "Your Majesty!" he froze before him, breathing heavily as he ducked before the boy in respect. "I have come to deliver dire news, Your Majesty. I beg you to lend me at least an ear!"

  
"Spit it out then!" he shouted, sensing the man's urgency. Alarmed, Juliet stood next to him, sure to pay the man her ears as well. When he finally caught his breath, the messenger rose, standing straight and offering the letter respectfully.

  
"Your castle was breached yesternight by Capulet loyalists, Your Majesty." he whispered. "They were not successful in their goals, for a lot of them were captured, but they created a noticeable dent in your guard. Lord Mercutio requests your immediate return."

  
And sure enough, the next place the two found themselves was inside their room, where The Archduke furiously gathered their things. Sitting on the bed, she observed him as he paced back and forth, delivering item after item to different bags. Her hands, the entire time, were sweaty, knitted over her lap. Her heart raced, her face beet red. She shivered all over, nervous, worried, and horrified.

  
On multiple accounts, she found herself in prayer for her men, quietly allowing her head to sink. Tears threatened to gather in her eyes. Though he was hard at work, preparing to leave, The Archduke caught notice of the dreadful look on her face. As though there was a shout, he stopped everything he did, and took a moment to gaze at her worriedly.

  
"...Juliet?" he spoke, approaching her slowly. "What is the matter? You are in the verge of tears."

  
"Please... Pay me no mind... I am fine."

  
"Enough with your lies." he murmured, seating himself at her side. Gently, he took her hand, holding it. "Tell me what you weep for."

  
She hoped that she would eventually lead him away from the question; so, she remained quiet, setting her head against his shoulder. Though she fought very hard, she allowed her tears to flow.

  
"There were men that stormed your castle... That are loyalists of Capulet."

  
"That is true." he replied. "Thank God we were not there to be susceptible to their harm."

  
She knew why they came.

  
"You are going to kill them. All of them." she whispered. "You are going to kill them..."

  
"Most likely." he grumbled.

  
"How can I call a serial murderer husband?" she growled suddenly. "If you slay them, I will be driven mad and wish to leave like your mother. You will be no different than your father, who slew many and lost his wife then after."

  
The room became quiet. Eerily quiet. She felt bad vibes coming from this type of silence, vibes that made her nervous, but irritable. She saw him frown, then narrow his eyes as he turned away from her.

  
"I am Archduke, therefore I have responsibilities. Those responsibilities demand that I make decisions I see fit. I am to protect my kingdom, myself.... And especially you. I hope you will someday see my reasons for these decisions."

  
No more could be said, not without giving herself away. Juliet knew the stupidity there would be in screaming at him, demanding him to not lay a finger on them. He would surely question her insistence, which was rooted in an answer that would most likely spawn danger. She chose instead to keep her mouth shut, and it was most likely for the better.

  
She was quiet. Quiet as they departed from the convent, quiet as they flew home, quiet as they landed in the stables. What she saw afterwards would only go to glue her lips shut even more. Gore stained the halls, bodies laying about. Many of them she did not recognize, others were strangely familiar. She remembered, what felt like so long ago, in the midst of a graveyard, before the vandalized graves of her family, the faces of many loyalists. They shouted her name, bowing before her.

  
Yes, she recalled the faces of some that now lay dead along the hall. She could not help but weep as she went on, The Archduke forbidding her to stray from him. He pulled her close. Believing she wept for other reasons, he soothed her by shielding her eyes with his palm and whispering reassuring words.

  
The Archduke delivered her to their bedroom, seating at at their bed. Next to her, he gathered her in his arms, planting his lips on her forehead time after time. Though it did help, it helped only a little, and when it did help, she tried to forget everything. She forgot his name, Montague. He was only a sweet little boy then, one showering her with comfort. Her memory was quick to return each and every time, though.

  
"Juliet." he murmured. "Forgive me. I did not wish for you to see that sort of thing..."

  
She was still silent, limp, and yielding to every force which swept her whichever way. Holding her against him, he stroked her hair, tightening his embrace with each passing moment. His breathing was uneven, so she noticed, and with an ear pressed against his sturdy chest, she heard a nervous heartbeat. Perhaps, in the end, he was nearly as unsettled as her.

  
"Forgive me again." he muttered. "There is business I must now tend to. Stay here, and keep the doors locked. Should you need me, call for me, and I will come." he rose, releasing her from his arms, leaving her sitting on the bed. When he had reached the door, her eyes widened.

  
"Romeo." she called, robbing his attention. "Please... Promise me you will bring them no harm until you... Until you are absolutely certain it is necessary."

  
His eyes dulled.

  
"Juliet..."

  
"Promise me." she tone was a pinch more forceful. The Archduke stood for what felt like a long while. Then, he set his hand on the door knob.

  
"I shall." he replied gently. "Sit and be safe, now."

  
She knew that would stall them time, time to allow her to reevaluate the situation. She knew it was time to go. She knew she would have to say good bye... But she feared the outcome for horribly. She trembled as she lay on the grand bed, weeping, gritting her teeth angrily.

  
"Fate." she hissed. "Damn thee, Fate! You demand our paths be crossed... And for our hearts to beat for one another... Or at least mine..." the umpteenth tear slipped down her cheek, then she began to plan her departure, her family at her side.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Word had gotten out of the loyalist's capture. The entire district of the commoners, both the poor and the richer, flew into a burning outrage. The sun set on the day, and they had gathered their torches, screaming at the gates of the aristocrat district, the entrance to the castle. The horrors that struck that land that night were to be remembered for the longest of times.

Though they never hurt the people intentionally directly, homes were set a blaze, making the night look like day. They cried the name of Capulet, even if their lips had never uttered the name.

  
Many fled from their homes, their families following. Children wept, watching their memories burn. Women screamed for their husbands to make it out, just as men screamed for their wives to make it I out. Arrows of fire flew about, landing on roof tops, spreading wildly. Little water was available. Hope was lost.

  
At the moment, this went unnoticed by the Archduke, who followed his advisor to the dungeon. His eyes were cold and lifeless. Anger built in them.

  
A pair of guards, armed, followed close behind.

  
The door to the dank prison swung open, creating a thud when it slammed against the wall, granting entrance to the four. The Archduke walked inside, stiff and stoically, and the silent crowd of prisoners quickly started a riot. They rammed their fists on their bars, cursing, swearing and spitting, all reaching their hands through to grab him.

  
They all swore on the name which was his. Over and over. Time after time.

  
Following Mercutio's word, The Archduke quietly weaved through the tangent of hands, making his way to the cell at the very back of the room. There, the leader of the loyalists resided. The Archduke stood before the bars, peering inside, waiting to be approached. From the corners Conrad watched, hiding in the darkness.

  
"Come forth, leader." The Archduke called menacingly. "I've caught wind that you wished to see me?" tense, Conrad rose, then approached the bars of the cell. They gazed at one another, staring each other down angrily. Finally, Conrad realized, he gets to gaze into the bleak void of The Archduke's eyes, his face closer than the bond between lovers.

  
"Hello, old man." said the boy.

  
"Greetings, Your Majesty."

  
"So you have come on behalf of Capulet?"

  
"I would never deny the name of which I am loyal to."

  
Laugher broke out of the boy; he howled, silencing the angry crowd, yielding echoes only for him.

  
"And what? Kill me? Kill me as you did my mother?" in a instant, the laughter stopped, and his hand darted to the bars, pounding on them angrily. "You devil spawn! Wherefore do you come here, fiend?"

  
Conrad, trying to remain calm, felt a chill rush down his spine, tingling the whole way through. He clenched his fists, then took a deep breath, hoping to relax his shoulders.

  
"You are correct. We came with intents to bring you harm." he murmured.

  
"You..." The Archduke gripped one of the bars tightly. "You are fortunate I was requested not to morally wound you, lest I would have done so already. You fortunate, fortunate rat." when a hand suddenly placed itself on the boy's shoulder, he paused, growing tenser by the second. Mercutio appeared from behind, leaning into his ear to give him a whisper.

  
"Your Majesty..." he uttered. "I do beg your pardon, but... You see..."

  
"Spit it out."

  
"I've received news of aristocratic district ablaze, sir. The commoners are in an uproar."

  
Silence followed, and with more time, The Archduke sank lower. His pupils shrunk.

  
"Unleash a peace squadron then." he grumbled. "Have them bring water."

  
"Of course, sir." Mercutio departed.

  
Another stare down embarked between the boy and the elder, his expression growing angrier and angrier. At last, he brought his hand up, then snapped, summoning the pair of guards to his side. When he straightened, the bridge of his nose wrinkled.

  
"So." he growled. "You come with intents to slaughter me... And if such does not prosper according to plan, your commoners set their neighbors on fire. What sort of wicked group is yours? Having people bring down their own. Hellbent on destroying something of mine..." he snatched a key from one of their guard's pockets, then welcomed himself inside the cell. Francisco and his comrades immediately felt the urge to prevent the boy from drawing near to the elder, but the escorts, armed, would not let them. They instead had to watch in the silence, horrified, as The Archduke approached closer.

  
"Conrad." uttered a voice from another cell, Curio, who watched closely. "Stay calm."

  
Conrad did not budge an inch, even with the boy's face centimeters away from his. The hair on the back of his neck stood, however, and sweat poured from his forehead. For the most part, he was calm, or so he appeared.

  
"Wherefore, old man?" asked the boy, huffing angrily.

"I do so because you are the enemy of Capulet, Montague. The son of Leantes, who slew the house in cold blood..."

  
The collar of his tunic was grabbed, curled in the ball of a fist. His back was shoved against a wall, evoking a grunt, then a desperate gasp for air.

  
"Because I am my father's son." The Archduke hissed, tightening his grip and pressing it against his throat. "You are no different. You're all the same wretched people." he threw him down in the corner roughly. The toe of his boot met the man's chest. "Be it so then, old man! Be it so! You all make me ill! All of you! If you wish to kill me for my name, then I shall kill you for where you stand!" he turned around, fury engulfed his eyes as he stared at one of his escorts. "You. Return to my chambers and explain to Juliet that I cannot keep the promise I vowed to her. Tell her that she may judge me however she wishes. All these men shall be executed by my hand at dawn."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  
Dawn came. For several hours, Juliet did not see The Archduke and was instead left to pace in the chamber, petting Arpeggio when she ever decided to sit. But she did not stay this way forever; after what felt like an eternity, a visitor knocked on the door. When she went to request the strangers identity, she was greeted by a voice which spoke from the other side.

  
"I do not request entrance, My Lady..." he said. "But I have orders to deliver a message from your lovely, His Majesty."

  
Immediately, her heart stung, and her legs wobbled weakly in panic.

  
"W... What sort of message?"

  
"He sends his utmost apologies... Those captive shall be executed in the throne room at seven hundred hours."

  
The world appeared to close in on her, smashing her, trapping her. Not a sound went by without her notice, nor a breath went unaccounted for. She could only utter a simple:

  
"Thank you for informing me."

  
A couple of minutes passed, each had her standing, waiting for the man to depart from the room's presence. Delirious, she rushed away from the door then after, then scavenged through the closet until she found what she needed: a pair of run-worthy shoes which barely fit her feet snug, a coat which wore tight around her body, and a tie she applied to her long hair. Before taking her leave, she gave Arpeggio one final kiss on the head, stroking his body for the last time.

  
"Good bye, sweet." she whispered over his purrs.

  
At last, business would be done.

  
The doors burst open, vomiting a girl who ran the fastest her feet would take her. Her knowledge of the halls navigated her about, rushing past many puzzled faces. She passed the hall of corpses, whispering promises theirs was not in vain, ignoring the calls which followed after her asking to where it was she was headed. Of course, she did not bother to answer.

  
She was still on a mission.

  
She still needed to finish it.

 


	29. Truthfulness

Conrad's wrists were bound, as were his ankles. With his head dipped, he sat upon his knees before a throne, his breathing uneasy and somber. Curio and Francisco sat at his side, in the same situation as he, just like several other men lined with their shoulders. Some struggled to break free, others remained helplessly still, accepting their fate. The elder took in a deep swallow, then ran his tongue over his lips quietly.

  
"I never figured ours to end in such a fashion." he whispered to other man at his side. Francisco, with a still expression, blinked.

  
"Everything has an end, I suppose." he replied. "How I wish we had a say in how it was to play out... So, Conrad, how did you figure yours to end if it wasn't such a thing as this?"

  
"I wanted to see our Archduchess crowned, then watch Antonio grow and marry... Hopefully, then I would pass when my body becomes unglued."

  
"It shall be unglued all right." grumbled Curio angrily, being one that tried to struggle to his freedom. "All of us will have something severed by that brat. I will not stand by and watch it happen without a fight."

  
Conrad's eyes dulled.

  
"The only hope Lady Juliet has now is for her to remain calm and not be quick to reveal herself as the surviving daughter of Capulet. She can live a happy life here I pray, even with us gone... So long as she is Juliet and Juliet only."

  
"The truth does harbor a dirty habit of leaping out of the box of secrets, though, do keep in mind."

  
"Shut your mouth, Francisco." Curio hissed. "The lot of us are preparing to die and you coax our hearts into despair with an inevitable reminder of defeat? You confounded-"

  
"What an excellent point your comrade brings up." uttered a voice. When they looked up, they found The Archduke approaching them, a decorated blade at his hip. Immediately, they all tensed. "I didn't pay ear to what sort of words he grumbled, but I must say, they don't make your fate any more appealing. All of you, hush." the boy then looked up, his eyes gazing about the grand throne room. The curtains were closed. Torches surrounded them. An eerie silence hovered over the atmosphere. "Rejoice, all, for I have worked out a compromise." he cleared his throat. "On the night of the fall of Capulet, a survivor of the name escaped, was there not? Most likely in the protecting arms of one of you, no doubt. If I am given her location, you are all to be free. Is that not a grand transaction?"

  
Conrad grimaced.

  
"My loyalty reigns beyond my mortal life. Even with it at the stake, I will not see my Archduchess taken away by the hands of you. The same applies to each and every man that stands before you, whom I hand picked to join me in this rebellion against your tyranny."

  
He saw The Archduke's pupils shrink.

  
"Is that so..." he murmured slowly. Then, to their surprise, he backed away. He turned his back on them, gazing down at the throne silently for what felt like an eternity. When that was over, he wandered aimlessly to the corner of the room. There, he stood, setting his forehead right where the two walls met. They heard each breath which came from his mouth, for they were labored and wheezy.

  
He turned his head back around, eyeing the line of men. His gaze narrowed.

  
"Cerimon." he announced, summoning the attention of the man who stood at the side of the throne. "Has it reached the hour of dawn?"

  
Cerimon nodded dreadfully slow.

  
"It has indeed, Your Majesty." he answered heavily, dipping his head as he spoke. The sound of a sword unsheathed echoed through out the room afterwards. The shrill sent chills down Conrad's spine, and sweat to again bead in his forehead. He grit his teeth, prepared to utter a prayer.

  
The Archduke approached the first man at the line at the ran right of the hall. He looked down on him angrily.

  
"Tell me where the Capulet girl resides."

  
The man did not answer.

  
The blade was bloodied.

  
The Archduke moved on to the next man.

  
"Tell me where the Capulet girl resides."

  
The man did not answer.

  
The blade was bloodied.

  
The Archduke moved on to the next man.

  
"Tell me where the Capulet girl resides."

  
The man did not answer.

  
The blade was bloodied.

  
Horror build up in the elder as more time passed. He knew his turn was drawing nigh with each man more. He breathed heavily, so heavily, he thought his sweat would come out red. His fists behind his back clenched. He fought to imprison a shout. Who would he shout to? No one was there to help. No one was near. He was surrounded by darkness. It consumed him further and further. It's teeth gnawed on his bones, feasting on his terror.

  
At last, his posture snapped.

  
"Enough!" he wailed. "Open your eyes, boy! Open them and see pay witness to what it is you are doing! Have you already lost your mind sooner than your father? Murdering men for their stance? Open your eyes, confound it! Open them!"

  
"Murdering men for their names?" The Archduke leapt over a few dozen men and wandered over to the elder, the blood from his blade running onto his hand. "I beg you to open your eyes, old man. Perhaps we shall open each other's?" he set the broad side of his weapon on the man's head gently. "Whisper it then. Tell me where you hide your precious girl. It is acceptable. It is survival, is it not? Every man is for himself now. None are for you. You are for none. Abandon it all and save yourself."

  
Conrad fell quiet, choking on the lump in his throat. A tear built up in his eye. All the things that he ever loved come to mind... He wondered what would happen to them. His hands shivered as he slowly shook his answer. He knew it was over. The moment he moved, he knew he was signing his fate.

  
It was over.

  
Francisco and Curio looked away in dismay the moment the man made his choice.

  
The Archduke frowned deeper.

  
"Be it so, then, old man." he whispered.

  
The blade rose. The room fell silent. Time seemed to slow. The blade came down...

  
...Slowly...

  
...Slowly coming down....

  
...

  
...But a call rang through the nightmare, shouting...

  
"Your Majesty!"

  
A grunt came from the boy, a yell escaping his lips. It shouted pain, but his grip on the blade did not wither. His momentum did. Conrad looked up in horror, only find that the sword no longer came crashing down on him. He instead witnessed a different sight.

  
The sharp tip of metal rose from The Archduke's shoulder, revealing more of its bloody self with every passing moment. Each movement had a gruesome effect on the boy, who wailed in agony. At last, when he seemed to have enough, the tip slid out of him, leaving behind a well of red gushing a larger stain on his tunic. He nearly fell, but recollected himself. He whipped around.

  
There, behind him, baring Cerimon's blade, stood Juliet, her expression hard and furious.

  
His face broke.

  
"...Juliet?" he whimpered, dropping his weapon. She did not lay hers down; rather, she held it threateningly, promising to strike. Tears gathered in the boy's eyes. "Wh... What are you...? Why...?"

  
"I have seen enough. I have heard enough." she growled. "Leantes, I have seen enough, Leantes! I now truly comprehend the significance of the chant Let Roses Wilt! The line of Montague is nothing short of a curse!" she closed in on him, chasing him away from the line of men who survived. "Like father, like son. Like father, like son! Like father like son, Leantes! You are no longer Romeo: you are Leantes! You vile fiend of the night, cloaked in darkness and surrounded by demons of the depths, may your bones be crushed to flour and your rest be torn by vultures!" Cerimon, from the side, watched in horror. The Carabinieri, astounded, watched as well.

  
Speechless, The Archduke simply eased away as she closed further in on him. His mouth opened, but never did words prevail. Her teeth grit instead.

  
"Do you want your Capulet girl?" she exclaimed in fury. "Behold! Here she stands before you! What now will you do, Leantes? Will you turn your back on honesty and kill us all? Go on then, have us killed! Note my confidence, I beg you; every back is on you now, O High and Mighty Archduke of Neo Verona! What sword of the Carabinieri will run to your assistance? What sword of the Carabinieri ran to your rescue as your own son murdered you, Leantes? I beg you to try to resist when you are all alone, Archduke. Look at your back against the wall, you helpless rat, scrambling, looking for some sort of escape. Look at you, Leantes!" 

  
Silence followed. It rang. It rang so loud it deafened. She huffed over it, furious, glided by an inferno. His gaze weakened.   
The spark in his eyes faded away.

  
He slid away from her, the top of her blade following him. She chased him all the way back to the corner of the room, where he sank to his bottom, pressing his back the furthest away he could. His hands reached up slowly, his fingers gripping either side of his head. He held himself there, burying his face on his knees, shivering like he was in the cold.

  
"Juliet..." he whispered. "Of the house of Capulet... Be... Oh please... May it not be so... I beg... Oh please..." he uttered server all pleas more, his gasps for air echoing down the hall in between. She watched him with a metal stare, unchanging, unmoving. He stayed that way for an unhealthy amount of time. The red stain on his shoulder had grown since then, reaching down the sleeve of his tunic and his abdomen, still spreading. Somehow, the sight did not daunt her.

  
There came a point in which it was wondered if he had lost conscience, seeing that he did not budge for a long while. Losing her patience, Juliet grimaced, then beat the tip of her boot against his shin.

  
"You promised you would release me as soon as we returned." she growled. "Release me. And as one with authority given by name, I demand you also release my men."

  
His eyes peeked from their hiding place, gazing at her. Something clouded in that gaze, something she could not put her finger on... But the longer she studied, her finger landed on something sinister. Not something sinister for her, but sinister for him. As though he'd taken a plunge.

  
Those eyes darted to Cerimon.

"Order your men to cut the ropes which bind the prisoners." he murmured. "And give them thirty minutes to depart before you begin to pursue."

  
She did not turn her back on him, rather, as the Carabinieri began to set their prisoners free, she urged her blade closer to him.

  
"Thirty minutes." she scoffed. "You think too highly of us. Or are you still trying to have us dead?"

  
His eyes dulled.

  
"Forty five then." he corrected. "Forty five! Go! Leave! Rid yourselves from these halls, I command! I will not sit and watch a traitor prosper before me!"

  
Conrad, from behind, cleared his throat.

  
"My lady?" he called softly. "Please...Let us make haste."

  
Though she did not turn to him, she offered a nod as she slowly backed away from The Archduke, watching as he watched back. At last, with enough distance, she turned around, embarking on a sprint which led her men from the throne room. The door slammed shut.

  
They ran the fastest they could, Juliet in the lead, turning down hall after hall, easily making a decision when forks come across their path. None could deny one thing; their ears, all of them, picked up on a faint noise. It was faint, yet loud. Loud, yet quiet. It was a roar which echoed from the throne room, a roar mixed with agony and fury. Or was it sorrow? Or was it of begging? Or was it of longing?

  
Juliet abandoned her desire to find out, and instead left all her energy to finally escape from the castle of Neo Verona.

 


	30. Tables of Turning

It felt as though it had been forever since she last felt Cordelia's arms wrapped around her, and, as though she had waited for dessert after an awful dinner, feeling them again brought tears to her eyes. The moment they returned to the theatre, where they found Cordelia, Antonio, and Willy awaiting them, wails immediately broke, bodies rushing to one another in tearful reunion.

   
For a moment, the world paused to give them the moment.

  
"Juliet." the woman wept, tightening her squeeze. "Oh Juliet! Here I had convinced my somber mind its eyes shall never meet yours again..." she buried her face into her shoulders, which remained stiff from the most recent escape.

  
"My thoughts likewise, Cordelia." she uttered softly. "My thoughts likewise."

  
The room became filled with joy, filled with smiles and embraces. Antonio went to greet his grandfather, who welcomed him into his arms with delight. Having nearly lost his life, Conrad did not abandon the moment to remind the boy of his love, patting his head roughly in triumph.

  
The rest of the men, some familiar with one another, others not, watched, mingling with one another. Willy, always one to be peppy, approached Juliet with a grin, chuckling.

  
"If it isn't our Odin." he chirped before leaning in closely. "Or should I rather say _Odina?"_

  
She looked up from Cordelia, smiling back, leaving no room for confusion.

  
"Willy! You... You knew?"

  
"Never question my judge of character, little lost lamb." Willy smiled slyly. "I am a playwright after all, am I not?" before he could say anymore, he met the embrace of the girl, which he gleefully accepted.

  
The moment could have lasted forever. Juliet wouldn't have minded. She always knew, deep down, she was never an orphan, even with her entire family long gone. She was surrounded by family. She never took them for granted. She happily embraced each and every man, including young Antonio, and Francisco, or Curio, whom she both gifted with a kiss on the cheek. Of course, each pair of arms brought warmth to her heart, but there was always one she could not wait to return... Those of her father figure, Conrad.

  
He was warm, tears threatening to build in his eyes, as he held her, planting his lips on the top of her head affectionately. The chatter in the lobby seemed to die down to her ears, which quieted just so he could hear his words.

  
"My Iris." he whispered. "Forgive me."

  
"Nay." she argued softly. "It is I that apologizes... Causing your hairs to gray even more. I was foolish. I truly was a fool, running off, taking matters into my own hands."

  
"Worry not." the elder replied with a chuckle. "You'll be punished later."

Yes.

  
She wasn't alone.

  
She was safe at home.

  
Sadly, though, miles away, there sat one who was alone. He sat before a lit fireplace, nursing a wound on his shoulder. Mercutio stood behind him, tense, his eyes clouding with worry and concern. He watched, waiting for something to happen... Like a snap, he figured. Fear welled inside him.

  
"So." grumbled the boy before the fire. "The physician is not coming to observe my wound."

  
Mercutio's head dipped.

  
"Nay, Your Majesty..." he whispered. "The physician does not wish to come to you. I believe... I believe the physician is going to leave the castle soon... With or without your permission."

  
"To add his alliance to the confounded rebels, I can safely assume." he growled. He rose, then delivered himself to his bed, where he ripped off its sheets. While dragging them back over to his place before the fire, he glared at the ground. "Never him mind. I can bandage my own wounds. I do not need the help of any." he sat, then tore a long shred of the cloth before wrapping it around his new wound.

  
Mercutio momentarily looked away, gazing at the moon which peeked through the mirror.

  
"What now, Your Majesty?" he inquired humbly. "What now will you do about your new enemies, whom which you just released from your keeping?"

  
"I know not."

  
"There is not a doubt in my mind they will pay your castle another visit, again with intentions to take your life."

  
"They shall not prosper." he growled. "They may have slaughtered my mother, but they shall not slaughter me."

  
The man behind stood a while longer, watching as The Archduke wrapped himself over and over again. His eyes shut, his hand running itself through his hair.

  
"Your Majesty? I must inquire... For what reason do you seek revenge for your mother so passionately?"

  
"You should know by now. Through out my time here on the ground, I have been condemned. There was always one soul, though, that I always knew was for me. My mother. She is always for me. I am not alone."

  
And later, without The Archduke's knowledge, Mercutio would depart from the castle just as the physician.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Juliet! Juliet!" Antonio beat on her door. "Please do not tell me you have already fallen to slumber! I wish to hear from you! Juliet!"

  
The door opened, revealing the girl, clad in her sleep ware as she rubbed her eyes tiredly.

  
"Antonio?" she murmured. "You pesky boy... What is it you are so insistent about?"

  
The boy clasped his hands together, looking up at her.

  
"Please, Juliet, will you not grant me entrance so that I may listen to your tales? What was it like being held as prisoner in the castle? Dear me, it was all my fault for being such a lousy shot! I thought I would never see you again! I wish to talk to you all night in case I am to lose you forever next time!"

  
She raised a brow.

  
"Next time?" she echoed.

  
"Never that mind." Antonio quickly corrected. "Oh please, oh please, Juliet? What was The Archduke like? How did he behave?"

  
Heaving a sigh, the girl stepped aside, holding the door open for him.

  
"Be it so then, Antonio; come in."

  
Perky, the boy followed her into the dark room, watching as she closed the door behind her. Plopping in the bed next to the wall, Antonio set his hands in his lap eagerly, keeping his eyes upon her the whole time. A beam of moonlight kept inside from the small window, casting itself over the bed, separating the two of them.

  
Juliet brushed her hair over her shoulder after a huff.

  
"Your first inquiry?" she asked.

  
"The Archduke? How did he treat you? I am curious."

  
"He treated me finely. Why, I nearly had myself convinced I was crowned Archduchess. He watched me often, scrutinizing each man that laid eyes upon me. He had me fed well, better than Cordelia's feeding even. He proffered me an entire chamber to myself."

  
"Truly?" Antonio leaned closer, his eyes wide. "How large was it?"

  
"It was the second largest room in the castle!" she whispered. "Nearly six times the size of this room here. Its ceiling reached stories tall, a balcony housed a gorgeous view of the city, which glowed at night. It truly was a marvelous room, I dare say."   
Antonio leaned even closer, to her surprise. His gaze promises he wanted to whisper, drawing her ears closer as well.   
"And his chambers? The Archduke's chambers? Can you say you have ever set foot inside of there?"

  
"Of course. Plenty times; more than my fingers can count."

  
"And his bed?"

  
Immediately, red assaulted her cheeks. She backed away, her eyes just as wide as his. They were not curious eyes, but rather eyes of surprise.

  
"Antonio." she breathed. "To what sort of whereabouts does such a question have intentions of straying? What sort of thoughts are bubbling in that young mind of yours?"

  
"I am not as young as you give me credit for, Juliet." he replied softly. "Grandfather makes sure of such. I am not any naive fool; I am aware of the ways of lovers and the wedded who share their bed."

  
"L-Lovers?"

  
"Ay." he replied. "We payed audience to the execution to the nobleman Leonardo DeVitis. Before beheading him, the leader of the Carabinieri spake that he was charged for the attempted rape of The Archduke's lover... Juliet of the House of Crespo."   
She felt relief wash over her, causing her shoulders to relax and sink.

  
"Ah, lover..." she murmured. "Not that sort, Antonio. I never...I never gave myself to him. But I do admit... I shared a bed with him often, especially after the man intruded in my room." she looked up, her eyes gazing at the moon through the window. "It was strange, really. He never pushed for intercourse; in fact he protested against it. It was as though he just wanted warmth next to him at night and a face to wake to when the cock crowed."

  
"Curious that you mention such." Antonio observed. "The butcher came here a handful of weeks ago after the death of his son. He explained-"

  
"Yes, Antonio; I know what the butcher did to The Archduke."

  
There lingered a moment of silence between them, they eyes wandering elsewhere.

"And... Does such strike pity for him in you?"

  
"I do not know what to think." she whispered stressfully, looking down at her palms. "The most I recall is the amount of anger that welled inside me when I drove that blade through his shoulder. Amidst that rage, there swirled sorrow. I felt like a fiend injuring him, even though he had just killed three of my men. I saw his eyes... And the way they broke. They looked like an innocent man sent to his death. I could not bring myself to injure him any further, but rather intimidate him into submission. I could have killed him there, and the battle would have been won. I cannot say if I regret abandoning the opportunity."

  
"I suppose you cared about him enough to call him husband." Antonio added, taking her left hand when she gazed at him, puzzled. He held it, observing the golden ring on her wedding finger. "He must have asked you recently, I presume."

  
She flushed again.

  
"Y-Yes... About that..." her fingers began to fondle with the piece wrapped around her finger. "He did ask... But I accepted because..."

  
"Because you wanted to put yourself and your alliance at a point of advantage against him." Antonio narrowed his eyes. "But in all actuality, you fooled yourself into believing those were your reasons. You wanted to wed him, did you not? If you didn't, why, you would have ridden that piece from yourself a long time ago."

  
"Antonio!" she hissed. "You cannot go about making such accusations based loosely off of unstable evidence! I... I..."   
"Tell me the truth, I request." the boy whispered softly. Afterwards, with defeat on her face, her shoulders sunk, and she heaved a heavy sigh.

  
"Perhaps so..." she murmured. "Perhaps so, perhaps so..." her head shook gently. "I know not what to do, Antonio... I am in love with the boy. Madly, madly in love. I did not once consider myself prisoner as I was contained inside the castle even when my intentions should had well been escape. I do not know what it is about him, what it is that I wish to caress his face for! Confound it, confound these petty emotions, toying in the way of my work! The boy is evil, is he not? Evil to the core!"

  
At that moment, to their surprise, there came a knock on the door. Alarmed, the two's head perked, and, quiet and cautious, Juliet cocked her head. After a moment passed the, by, the knock resounded.

  
"W-Who at my door is standing?" inquired the girl. Slowly, the knob turned, revealing a dark figure in the doorway. His head peered inside, careful not to invade. A low voice sounded through the room.

  
"Pardon me." the stranger murmured. "I could not stop my ears from hearing."

  
"Ah." said Antonio, lax. "It is you, Tybalt." 

  
One of Juliet's brow sank.

  
"...Tybalt?" she echoed curiously.

  
"Forgive me." uttered the man. "Might I create a comment?"

  
Juliet, with a blink, eyed the man in the doorway. He did not bother to welcome himself inside, to her relief, thus she heaved a sigh. Shrugging, she gave Antonio a brief glance.

  
"Please do." she replied.

  
"The Archduke is already losing men inside the castle; many of them, mostly members of the guard, were inspired by our invasion and the bravery you displayed when driving a blade through their leader. They all secretly harbored a disliking towards him, but never have they decided to act upon in due to fear. Your actions have changed such a dismay." he nodded faintly. "I salute you, Soon-To-Be-Archduchess. Your army is growing as we speak; men are converting left and right and every which way I spy."

  
Antonio's eyes glowed.

"So The Archduke is soon to be alone, is he not?"

  
Tybalt gave him a brief smirk.

  
"Indeed, boy. Archduchess, I would like to inquire of you-"

  
"As soon as I inquire of you, man." Juliet interrupted. "Who are you? And why do you roam these halls during the hours of night?"

  
The man gazed at her for a moment, studying her carefully.

  
"Perhaps now is the best time to introduce myself, My Lady." he murmured, bowing slightly. "Or should I correct myself... My cousin."

 


	31. The Last Soul

It was true; the castle was slowly, but surely, becoming more and more vacant. Men were packing their things, leaving without a word, or permission. The guard became thinner. The servants became less. The castle was slowly beginning to run down; rooms were dusty, plates were uncleaned; barrels of water sat still, the dirt inside settling.

  
Conrad was pleased to hear these things. Francisco, who had just returned from a patrol atop a steed, walked inside the dining room, a satisfied smirk running across his lips. With a flip of his hair, he sighed, nodding his hellos to the people inside.  
"Brilliant news, Conrad." he announced. "I took a dare and intersected the forbidden skies which roam above the castle; not a single arrow was fired, nor a shout demanding I depart. I dare say there are almost none left to do so, for they are all with us."

  
Smiling, Conrad's head rose.

  
"Brilliant indeed." he agreed. "No time is more ripe to remake an entrance. How many bushels of time has passed? Handfuls? We have an army larger than The Archduke could ever dream of, what sort of silly event are we waiting for?" he turned around, spying upon Juliet, who sat in the corner, listening with distress branding her face.

  
"My Lady." piped Curio. "No time is better to invade the castle. We only need your say."

  
"I say no." she replied stiffly. "I do not wish to attack the castle yet."

  
The room fell silent, filled with surprised expressions.

  
"I... I don't believe such a thing." uttered the elder, balancing between confusion and fury. "We've waited nearly a pair of months. Look at you; the woman who drove a blade through The Archduke without a second thought is now too frightened to depart from her home with an army behind her. What on earth has thrown itself into your throat to cause you to say such things?"

  
Tybalt, from the other corner, narrowed his eyes.

  
"She is our Archduchess, old man." he spoke. "I see no reason in arguing with her. If she says we are not to invade, then we are not to invade. It is true no opportunity is riper, but when will it rot? Or will it rot at all? The castle is nearing emptiness, and never is it likely to be full again until we decide to fill it ourselves. The Archduke is nothing now. He cannot do anything. All are against him, and never will an equivalent of our army suddenly come to support him."

  
Conrad sat still, his brows furrowed. He reigned his face away roughly, propping it on a fist with frustration.

  
"I do not see your reason, My Lady." he grumbled, no longer arguing. "At least offer me that if you plan on being so horribly insistent."

  
"Grandfather." Antonio's head peeked out from the kitchen, where he once helped Cordelia with dinner. "Juliet was in love with The Archduke, remember not?"

  
"After he killed three of her men before her very eyes, I would imagine her to change her mind over such a matter." growled the elder back. "Go back in the kitchen and stay from the conversations that concern you not."

  
When the boy slowly slid back to where he had come, all eyes were set on the girl who sat in the corner. Her eyes were dull, gazing down at the wooden floor. She knew they were all waiting on her, waiting for her to part her lips to bring forth words. Nothing sat on her tongue with urgency to be released. There was truly nothing more she had to say...

  
"Though I know that the love between us should have been nipped at the bud the moment it began to grow... I cannot stop myself. I feel no shame in loving him, for he is not a guilty boy. The lot of you told me of a story which explained the death of Lady Portia, did you not? Of how it was actually Leantes that brought her to her end? Well, I feel you should know, The Archduke is convinced otherwise. He is more noble than you would have yourself believe; he is simply trying to do what is right in his eyes. If I correct him with gentleness, I do imagine him to change his ways."

  
"And so?" Conrad uttered. "How does this mingle with the delay to take what is yours?"

  
"It has much to do with it." she retorted. "I need time to consider my actions or else I will push them into play too soon and create a dreaded mistake. I do not know what I am to do with the boy when I encounter him again, this time with a sevenfold of my former army. Should I end him? Or should I spare him? If I am to spare him, what am I to do with him? The people do not see him the way I do, and would demand his blood. Of course, if I am not to obey their orders, they will rise against me as well." she turned away, her face growing somber. "I cannot kill him, nay I cannot. He is a misguided creature, a lamb who has been left in the dark for too long. When the lamb is in the dark for too long, it cannot see itself, then begins to believe it is a lion and attacks every moving thing due to fear. Nay. I cannot hurt him... After all... I do believe he has been in great pain for the longest of times."

  
The skies were dark and gray outside.

  
Little light was coming into the room.

  
No light would reach the corner of the chamber.

  
He sat there, curled up in the same position he had been in for a very long time. The halls were silent. Every noise would echo.

  
He would call, but receive no answer.

  
The castle was empty now. None stayed. Chairs were turned over. Lavishes had been stolen. The flowers in the garden outside have wilted, much including the many roses, now colored black. In the way of the front door, there sat piles of furniture, ranging from desks, chairs, couches, tables, and bed frames... Combined, all of it was heavy, too heavy for one, perhaps even two, men to push away.

  
None remained but The Archduke, who chose to spend his days in his corner, gazing in front of himself quietly.   
His mind frolicked about, wandering to places that pleased him. Places like a convent, where his mother was. Sometimes Juliet would appear in these visions. She was always there, working on supper in the kitchen. She greeted him with a smile each time, pat him on the cheek, then invited him to sit and wait at the table.

  
The thoughts pleased him very much.

  
But they were soon to be interrupted.

  
The doors of his chamber slowly creaked open. Though he should have been, The Archduke, dirty and shedding weight, was not alarmed. His puffy eyes lazily slid over to the side, scrutinizing the door with a glassy stare. From the doors, there walked in a small individual: Benvolio.

  
He looked around the room for a while, searching for him, before he finally caught sight of his curled form in the corner. Slowly, he approached the boy, concern on his face.

  
"C-Cousin..." uttered Benvolio, drawing closer. At a point he deemed safe, away from arm's reach, he stopped, meeting his eyes. No response came from The Archduke, who continued to glare at him from the shadows. With a dry throat, Benvolio's gaze darted away for just a moment. "Cousin I have come to inform you..."

  
"Out with it." the shadows growled.

  
"I... I have made a decision. I am to leave and join the rebels." The Archduke continued with his nothingness. "I am the last to go, I feel you should be aware. No more shall linger within these walls when I take my leave. Soon, the House of Capulet shall reign again as rightful ruler. We will come here, and whatever traps you may have laid out will be no match. Lady Juliet shall take what is hers... At this point, there is nothing you can do to prevent it." the boy began to back away, his head lowered. "Farewell, now, cousin."

  
And just like that, The Archduke was back in his silence.

  
And just like the day he slew his father, a rumble boiled deep in his lungs.

  
A wicked laugh echoed loudly down the halls.


	32. Reunion

Tybalt was sleeping rather lightly on night, a leg crossed over the other. His blades, still x'ed over his shoulders, were still, pressed against the back chair in which he slept. His arms were crossed comfortably over his chest. It wasn't the best place to sleep in the dining room in a stiff chair, but Tybalt was content, dreaming dreams he would not recall when he awoke.  
Unbeknownst to him, a figure slowly crept into the room. A skinny blade was strapped at its hip, boots beating lightly against the wooden floor. Slowly, it approached his sleeping form, quiet as a mouse creeping up to a chunk of cheese. It lay a finger on his shoulder gently.

  
Always alert, Tybalt's eyes snapped open, and his strong belly pulled himself up. His muscles tensed, but the figure, shushing him steadily, pat him on the shoulder time after time.

  
"Tybalt, Tybalt." it whispered harshly. "Please, I beg, do not make a ruckus."

  
Tybalt narrowed his eyes, adjusting his gaze to the darkness. There, with a little light peeking inside from the window, he spied upon the figure before him. It wore a long brimmed hat, eyes bordered by a dark mask. Its hair was short, yet strangely familiar, and a cape trailed down its back. Prejudice, he dropped a brow, frowning.

  
"Lady Juliet." he murmured at last. "I figured that to be you. Wherefore do you disguise yourself as though it is All Hallow's Eve?"

  
"Cousin, I hear rumors you are a skilled fighter, am I wrong?"

  
Tybalt's frown continued to grow deeper.

  
"I do pride myself much for plausible bladesmanship. I practiced for an entire decade before I came to visit Neo Verona again."

  
"Excellent. I have a favor to ask of you, cousin. Would you promise to humor it?"

  
"Do allow me to create a conjecture." the man uttered. "You wish to return to the castle, where you shall visit your lover, The Archduke. There, I will accompany you for protection."

  
Juliet heaved a sigh, cocking her head to the side.

  
"Somewhat." she murmured. "I wish to check on him. I do not know what his condition is like. Forgive me, I would have asked someone else had so many not have gardened hatred for him. I receive the impression you harbor at least a lick of sympathy for him, do you not?"

  
"I hated his father more." Tybalt replied. "But the boy himself is one I am unsure of what to think. I certainly do not hate him as much as your fellow comrades such as the old man. I suppose you could call me neutral in position."

  
"Then you should have no reason to decline, correct? Oh please, if you cannot scavenge any desire in your body to go, do please tell me. I wish not to make one do what he does not want to do."

  
Quiet, Tybalt rose, stretching his stiff body. Repositioning his dark cloak, he blinked, then gazed out the window.

  
"If I am to decline, you will likely go alone." he mused. "I sense a powerful will inside of you."

  
A flush spread across her cheeks.

  
"So I've been told..." she said lowly. "I suppose your answer is affirmative then?"

  
"Yes." replied her cousin. "Come now. Mauro is outside."

  
Mauro, Tybalt's horned steed, was what flew the two into the skies with intentions to deliver them to the defenseless castle. It was a mystery if her housemates heard their departure or not, but at the time, little did she care. Sitting in front of the man, she kept a steady hand atop her hat, holding it against the unfriendly winds in the air. Below, in the commoner's district, people were awake still, their work guided by torches. They, without doubt, manufactured weapons for all to receive. The aristocratic district, with certain parts burned to a crisp, was quiet and dark. To her surprise, the old church remained untouched by any flame's lick.

  
The trip was a quick one. Before she knew it, Mauro's hooves clicked against the red stained cobblestone of the castle's courtyard. Tybalt was the first to slip off, offering Juliet his hand from below. The moment her feet touched the ground, Juliet felt a chill rush up her spine.

  
The castle was not as friendly as it seemed. Granted, the castle was something she held mixed feelings over, but it was never quite this... Menacing. She shivered once, then regained her composure with a sigh. Tybalt waited patiently for her to gather herself; when the moment came in which they moved on, they walked side by side, creeping towards the door.

  
The door, to their surprise, could not be pushed open very wide, even with their combined effort. After a few struggles, Tybalt huffed, narrowing his eyes.

  
"He must have blocked it." he scoffed, heading towards a window. "He is not as clever as I made him out to be, only barricading the front door like a child." with one simple, but swift, kick, the window was shattered, granting them an ideal entrance. "Come."

  
Tense, almost regretting her decision to visit, Juliet followed him through the broken shards hanging on the frame, careful not to scratch herself. Unfortunately, there was one small chip that slid through her awareness; it did not hurt, but it made a small tear on her arm in both her clothes and her skin. She hissed in surprise, then observed the wound, seeing only a little trickle of blood begin to build in the cut. Tybalt raised a brow.

  
"Cousin." he started. "I imagined you to be stronger than to wince at such a petty wound."

  
"Nay." Juliet replied quickly. "It only caught me off guard."

  
"Very well so then. Let us continue on."

  
Juliet's first conjecture of The Archduke's whereabouts was inside his chambers. Instead, to her surprise, she found not a soul inside, not even in his special corner. So, confused, the two wandered around the dark building, striding carefully in fear of disrupting something or having something disrupt them.

  
The halls seemed different at night with nothing to let her see. The torches on the wall were long burned out, having been burning too long without tending, leaving unusable and broken. Decor on the wall, mainly a few crests, were ripped, torn to shreds by people as they took their leave. Vases, once full of roses, were knocked over, the flowers beneath dry and braking. A few shivers more sent themselves down her spine.

  
Juliet's second conjecture was inside the throne room, the place she had last seen him. Having no better ideas, Tybalt followed her without a word, a frown on his lips as always. They reached the doors which would deliver them there, and they gazed at them with frowns. She heaved a sigh, then rolled her head around her shoulders before finally pressing her hands on the entrance, causing them to carelessly swing around their hinges.

  
Moonlight peeked inside the room, traveling down the long train of carpet leading to the grand seat. There, basking in the paleness, sat none other than The Archduke, still as a dead man. Juliet felt her fists tighten, her teeth grinding against one another. Without exchanging even a word with Tybalt, she walked a little ways ahead of him, approaching the throne. The man, who stood behind, watched, giving her space, but never too much. Instead, he crossed his arms, prepared to draw his dual blades whenever he needed.

  
"Good night, O Archduke." Juliet called, two men's height away from the throne. The boy sat still, gazing at her blankly. He nodded her head before giving him a slight bow. "I have come to pay you a visit."

  
Chills rushed up her spine again, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand. He acted strangely, gazing at her grimly. She frowned, running a tongue over her lips slightly.

  
"Interesting hour you chose, O Champion of Justice." he commented dully. His voice was monotone and scratchy, harassing her ears. "For what reason? Have you come to strike me down?"

  
"Nay, of course not. That is not my job, nor my right." she replied quickly. "Thou sad creature; assuming all are out to murder you."

  
"Does there reside in you a reason to blame me?"

  
She paused, looking away.

  
"Not at all." she replied.

  
Suddenly, to her shock, The Archduke slowly rose, revealing a thinning frame. He was dirty, certain parts of his skin caked in hints of blood, and his hair, oily, matted down. Somehow, in the presence of him now, she felt no intimidation. No weapons decorated his sides, nor did parts of his clothes bulge from hiding one. Because of this, with a blade on her hip, she did not move when he approached closer.

  
He stood before her, looking down into her eyes with a frown. His were dull again, just as dull and lifeless as they were when she had met him for the first time. It seemed as though it was so long ago... And for a moment, she almost considered the void to be worse.

  
"You look horrible, Archduke." she said.

  
"Forgive me. I was not aware of your coming. Had I known, I may have found a way to wash."

  
"I am not talking just of physical condition. Your face resembles a dead man's."

  
The Archduke blinked slowly, his breathes slow. He turned away, walking someplace she could not figure.

  
"Red Whirlwind, whom which I assume to have sided with the House of Capulet," he called. "Please, would you answer my armless call to visit with me?" surprised, she looked back to the entrance of the throne room; Tybalt stood there still, watching and listening carefully. Before she could decide on anything, The Archduke added stiffly: "You alone. Without your sidekick."

  
She sighed, giving her cousin a slight nod before following after him.

  
"As you wish. I shall hold you to your word, though. Do heed my warning."

  
The Archduke did not answer. Rather, he, with his back arched, led her out of the throne room, down several dark halls, then finally to two grand double doors: the doors to his chambers. After being invited inside, the door shutting behind them, they were not aware of the one who trailed them. Tybalt kept his lips sealed, even as he stood outside the door to their privacy. He leaned against it, listening.

  
Inside the dark room, where the moon crept in subtly, The Archduke stood to the side, watching as Juliet weaved her way about the floor. The furniture was not as neat as she recalled; it was scattered all over, overturned incorrectly; a sure sign of a fit. There was a stiff air about the place, one which made her feeling discomforted, almost threatened. The source of such a feeling stemmed solely from the dark corner.

  
"I offer my hospitality, Red Whirlwind." The Archduke murmured. "Please, relieve your head from its hat and your back from its cape."

  
She looked away.

  
"I do not plan to stay for long. Accept my humble decline, I ask."

  
Little did she know; The Archduke hovered over to her, standing over her small frame. Again, he looked down at her, gazing into her eyes with a grim frown. The hairs on the back of her neck stood before long, and her legs screamed to run, yet she forced them into stillness.

  
Just a moment later, the question of whether or not that was a good idea came into play.

  
He pressed himself against her swiftly, and his hand, quick, bolted up to her head, where he pushed her hat from her crown from the brim. Before she could react, he had worked at the knot behind her head, pulling her mask to slide down and become a necklace.

  
What took her a while to realize, though, what the fact that the entire time this happened, there was a pair of lips pressing hungrily against hers. His arms slid down her back, embracing her as the reunion deepened, one of his hands reaching up to her head. His fingers fondled the wig covering her hair, lightly tugging until it fell off. Her hair cascaded down her back, pouring over the arm holding her.

  
When they broke apart, she was not given any time to utter a word; he crashed against her again, stealing her breath. This went on for a little while, but it would have likely been shorter had she decided to struggle. For some reason, she did not. She tasted the disparity in his gesture, felt the need in his tightening his embrace, and heard the relief in the sighs which heaved from his nose.

  
She was picked up, then gently laid down on an unmade bed. The entire time, his mouth followed hers.

  
Laying still on her back, her eyes wide with shock, she watched as he settled his body against hers, laying an arm over her belly. Another sigh left his nose, and at last, his lips released hers, his head hovering over her face. A smile was on his lips, his eyes revived and glowing.

  
"I have waited a great amount of time for you, Red Whirlwind." he said gently, pulling her closer. "I rejoice to see your return."

  
She flushed, her heart beating terribly quick.

  
"A-Archduke..." she breathed. "For... For what reason do you...?"

  
"Have you not returned for our wedding?" he inquired. "Forgive me, we may not have an audience, nor a reception, but God shall be our witness as we make our vows. The castle is to ourselves, see? We shall go uninterrupted as we honeymoon." he smiled wider, nudging her nose with his. However, Juliet frowned.

  
"I have not come to wed." she replied softly beneath him. "I have come to speak with you."

  
"Please then, speak. And when you are finished, we can rest. And when we awake, it will be three days until our wedding, so we can use our time to prepare." he bent back down to join her again, taking less time than he had before. It was a gentle gesture, yet powerful.

  
"Enough." she said at last, nudging him off of her. Surprised, almost heart broken, The Archduke gazed at her, slowly easing his weight from her body. His eyes dulled as he lay himself next to her.

  
"You..." he began slowly. "Your affections have run cold for me. Or were they never so to begin with?"

  
"I have not come to exchange affection." she replied stiffly. "I have come to speak business." hoping to comfort him, she pat his cheek. "Your army is all gone, have you not noticed? You are all alone now."

  
"I was alone to begin with." he whispered back, gazing into her eyes blankly. "Loyalty was never within any of my servants. All it took was one to depart for others to follow. If they were willing to leave so soon, would they have taken a blade or an arrow for my sake by will? Of course not."

  
Like his, her eyes dulled as well. Slowly, she shifted to lay on her side, setting a hand on his chest. Of course, she said she would show no affection seeing that that was never her intentions for the visit... But she could not stop herself from at least allowing her hand to roam.

"And what shall you do about such?"

  
"I do not know." he replied.

  
"I am going to return and reclaim this castle in three weeks, my army behind me. It is the whole country by now, I should mention. You stand no match, no matter your strength, Archduke. You are short on time; a decision must be made." slowly, she slid her hand to his head, where she stroked his oily hair. "If you submit willingly, I shall consider sparing you. What say you?"

  
He blinked, eyeing away submissively. However, when he turned back to her, he took her lips once again, slightly rougher than before.

  
"No." he said, releasing for breath. "I will not hand over the throne to Capulet. I will not abandon my mother without a fight. She was always for me, so I shall always be for her."

  
Her heart pounded roughly suddenly, her hands beginning to quiver. The moment she dreaded was coming. It was easing up like a creeping snake. It was destined to strike any second now. It was bound to strike. As soon as her tongue released it, it would be venom to him.

  
"Your mother was not for you." she said lowly. "I remember, years ago, a visitor came to the theatre in which I have hid for all my life. It was your mother, I now realize. With her were tall, powerful steeds lugging crates and barrels. In them were weapons and food to supply an army. She supported the name of Capulet, so much so that she returned the Capulet blade, which was apprehended when my father put up his final fight against yours. She spoke unto one of my housemates that the blade was to strike down The Archduke, Leantes by the hand of the only surviving Capulet."

  
In the moonlight, she saw his pupils thin.

  
"You speak nonsense," he began to whisper.

  
"And when another comrade inquired that if Leantes were to be struck before then, not by my hand, then the blade was to strike her son, who should resume the throne. She feared the day you were to take the crown, and urged that if you were to reign with fury and malice, we end you. It was your father, Leantes, that slew her for conspiring with us months later."

  
She waited in the silence, watching his pupils continue to narrow. She could not figure what the expression on his face held; it was dark and ominous, frightening even.

  
He roughly rose, sliding off the bed.

  
"I will not lay and listen to your devilish lies." he sneered, wrinkling the bridge of his nose.

  
"If you wish to live to your mother's will, then you will let there be peace between us."

  
He glared at her with those lifeless eyes; fury built in them, and he struggled to pent it inside.

  
"There shall never be peace!" he roared. "I will not let there be peace so long as I live! Any house that speaks lies of a boy's dead mother for their gain should never be permitted to breathe! I will not stand and listen to you. I will not see you succeed. I will not see you prosper!"

  
Alarmed, she too forced herself from laying; on her feet, she backed away, trying to calm herself. She was safe so long as she held a sword and he did not. She was safe.

  
"Archduke." she began, only to be interrupted.

  
"You all walk about, saying death to the Roses. Well, I say death to the Iris. I will burn each and every one of them. I will eradicate them from the face of this earth. No seed shall be spared, nor shall its pollen fly with the wind."

  
She clenched her fists, tightening her shoulders.

  
"Tell me then." she hissed. "If your mother was not for the name of Capulet, Montague instead, then for what reason would she adore the white petals of on iris? Does a man of the cross love a star of the witch? Shouldn't he instead decor his dwelling with crosses?"

  
"I spoke that I would not listen to your lies!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through out the tall room. "Is this truly your character, Capulet? Is this what is rightful to the throne?"

  
"So asks the boy that is a murderer!"

  
"I kill no innocents! All who fall by my hand falls for his wicked ways! They are all wrongdoers, but the name of Capulet instead insists to keep their bodies moving and their chest heaving! Does the name of Capulet truly capture the majority's sympathy? Does the name of Capulet, who shouts for criminals to live, truly have the love and loyalty?" he grit his teeth, heaving. "Thou lucky fiend." he growled. "Thou lucky fiend! Thou lucky fiend! Must I do the same to acquire love and sympathy? Must I do wrong to get what should be granted unto every man who roams this earth? Or does fate despise me so that it decided to put me in the body which was born from the wife of my father? I have restrained myself all my life, and I have yet to turn my back on those people, all bastards! What do I receive? I receive nothing!"

  
She heaved as well, her heart beating, trying to escape.

  
"You are a Montague." she reminded simply. "The name of Montague is past the point of redemption."

  
Before she knew it, a vase shattered at her feet. Her eyes widened, then darted up. There he stood, hunched over, gasping for air, his eyes wide and his pupils impossible to notice. He grabbed another article from a dresser.

  
"I want you out." he wheezed. "I want you out! Now! Out!" he another vase shattered where she stood. "Get out! Away with you! Now!"

  
Her hands shivered, and she slowly backed away. Before she knew it, the doors had burst open from the outside, vomiting a battle ready Tybalt, armed and dangerous.

  
"My Lady!" he shouted, running to her side. His steely green eyes fell on the animalistic Archduke. "Get away, fiend!"

  
"Fiend!" echoed The Archduke before spewing a fit of laughter. "I am a fiend? Look at me, the fiend!" he gave them a toothy grin, his eyes wider than ever. Another vase was thrown, shards pelting their shins. "Oh, run, innocent Capulet girl! Run from the monstrous fiend, The Montague Boy! Go go! Flee! He is out to beat and rape and slash and abuse and starve you!"

  
She lost her ability to speak; noticing this, Tybalt replaced one of his blades to his backpack, then stole her wrist. Tugging her, they broke for the balcony. The Archduke did not chase them, though. He stood still, laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks, hugging his sides tightly. They burst out of the tall glass doors, and without a second thought, Tybalt took Juliet by her sides, hoisted her up, then threw her over the edge, where he followed.

  
"Mauro!" he boomed. Seconds later, a bray sounded before they abruptly hit the back of a strong and powerful black steed. Tybalt, situated, worked to help Juliet aboard before they disappeared into the darkness of the city.

  
Hours later, they were found beneath a bridge deep in the heart of the cluster of buildings, next to the quiet canal. She squatted at its side, her face buried in her hands. She was weeping, struggling to remain silent. Tybalt was aware of what she did, but said nothing; that is, at least until he approached her. The trickling of the water provided serenity between them, a godsend in the situation, prolonging the silence.

  
"There is no doubt." grumbled the man. "He bore the marks of insanity."

  
"I have broken him." she whispered quietly. "The words I chose... Were not the correct words." her sigh quivered. "That was not him. That was not my Romeo. Something is undoubtably amiss."

  
Tybalt's lids sunk.

  
"It can be assumed that is because his back is against the wall, the entire country closing in on him." he replied. "You know how animals are; they lash when they have been cornered and become desperate for an escape."

  
She raised her head, wiping away her tears. Her brows furrowed.

  
"He is not an animal." she grimaced, rising to her feet. "Tell me, cousin; is it appropriate to consider myself Archduchess?"

  
He shrugged.

  
"I suppose."

  
"Then be it so; I execute my first royal command: none shall speak ill of the name of Montague, the exception being its perished head, Leantes."

 


	33. Longing

As of late, Juliet had been sincerely disturbed. Every night, in her sleeping gown, she would sit upon her bed, gazing at the small window at the top of her wall. In her eyes was curiosity, which led her to it, gazing outside of it. She saw the city and its greatness, an architectural marvel, bathing in the moonlight. What was even more of a marvel than it was the castle, which she barely saw peeking between two goliath tenants.

  
Each day was a day closer to the day she would go there again, dressed in red armor with the Capulet blade at her hip. There was no backing down on this decision, as she had already communicated it to Conrad, which in turn communicated it to her entire nation-wide army.

  
Every night, dreams would plague her mind.

  
She was in the castle again, except this time, the crest of her house was mounted in places she remembered Montague. Roses in vases were replaced with irises. Blue ran dry, overcome by red. People lingered inside the hall, their faces cheery and upbeat. She felt a certain warmth in her belly; a happy warmth that made her feel fuzzy.

  
She was in the throne hall with Willy and Antonio. They were laughing, all of them, spinning around in a circle, holding hands, their voices high and chirpy.

  
"Montagues no more! Montagues no more! On the day of lore when The Rose is gored, there'll be Montagues no more!"  
Before she knew it, many of her family had come to join in, making the circle bigger. First Conrad. Then Francisco. Then Curio. Then Cordelia. Then Tybalt.

  
Yes. They were all one big happy family, dancing around in the room like fools, happy as lards. They did not care how they looked for a change; the battle had been won. They sang some more, more than she had ever sang in her life. Her heart soared.

  
That is, until the door opened again.

  
Fluttering, she turned to see who would be the next person to join their song, hopefully to play their much needed soprano, but instead found what she did not expect. There, in the door way of the throne room, stood a puny little boy, his eyes wide and his hands shivering. He stared at her, horrified, as the singing slowly drew to a halt. All eyes were in the little boy.   
He was small, much younger than the already young Antonio, with lifeless green eyes, light blue hair matted in a mess atop his head. His clothes were dingy, baring a few holes. The moment she realized who the boy was, her heart caught fire.   
Before she could say a thing, like his name, he had already taken off, sprinting down the hall. Hurried, she followed him, abandoning her party, who stared, puzzled. She was hot on his trail, calling out to him. No matter how many times she said his name, asking that he slow, he did nothing but run faster, panting. She could have sworn she even heard weeping.   
They ran through the foyer, plowing through a crowd of people. The boy in front of her, her target, was what she fixed her eyes on, losing him not once. The crowd saw him and his dashing; they screamed at him when he passed. Feet rushed to his sides, but his sprint did not wither. Empty wine bottles shattered on his back; even with crimson staining his dingy clothes, he kept running, screaming in pain. She called to him again, trying to over power the angry crowd. She begged to be allowed to help.

  
He was chased into strange halls of the castle, halls she did not recognize. They were dark and cold, walls made of stone. Her toes started to ache, her legs turned to jelly, her lungs threatened to give way. They ran deeper into the depths of the castle... And deeper... And deeper...

  
The boy turned around a corner, and when she followed, she saw him nowhere. However, she saw a door on the wall lightly closing, as if it was trying to not draw attention to itself. Heaving, she sauntered up to it, her arms quivering tiredly. Careful, but fearful, she set her hand on the knob of the door, then gently tugged it open. She peered inside, her eyes wide and curious, only to be greeted by pitch darkness; she would have never figured the boy was inside had she not heard heavy breathing.

  
Slowly, she eased inside, pulling the door closed behind her. Quickly, she closed her eyes for a few seconds, ten she counted, in hopes of improving her vision. When she opened them, though, she found a golden torch on the wall, lit, giving the dark, barren, room an orange glow. However, though, she did not find a little boy anywhere. Instead, scrunched in the corner, she found a boy on the border of manhood. His physique did not say man, seeing that it was skinny with muscle withering away. His back was turned to her, his knees hugged to his chest, his face buried between his legs.

  
Her body froze, eyes wide, as she gazed at him. His back was bloody still, violated by unwelcome visitors: shards of glass from bottles. He heaved in pain, shivering, clutching the temples of his head. Steadily, she dared to ease over to him, her body compact and small. She whispered his name, then witnessed him peer over his shoulder. His eyes were wide, pupils slim like an angry cat. His red back hunched, displaying a sharp, meatless spine. She could not figure if the gaze was angry.   
"You are injured." she whispered, sliding closer. He didn't move, even as she took the collar of his shirt. It slid off of him slowly, peeling where there was red. He growled as she did so, tensing, hissing. She gazed at the barren wound sadly. "Thou pitiful thing."

  
She reached out to it, only to halt when he snarled.

  
"Do not dare to touch it. I will not be helped by one of you."

  
Her brows furrowed.

  
"W-What am I?" she inquired carefully, worried. He did not take his eyes off of her.

  
"You are the butcher and my father." those eyes narrowed. "Kill me. If you thirst for the death of my name, for roses to wilt, then end me. What have I done to deserve torture? Thou fiend, hating a man for his name. At least do him the favor of removing him from his misery."

  
Her eyes softened suddenly, welling with tears for reasons she did not know.

  
"...End your misery?" she echoed carefully. "End your misery... Yes... I shall help end your misery, boy. I shall."

  
"End whose misery?"

  
Her eyes snapped open, where she found herself once again in the darkness of her room. Alarmed, she brought herself up, rubbing her eyes roughly, demanding they awaken as well. She surveyed the room carefully, her shoulders raised and hard; her teeth grit tensely.

  
"W-Who here intrudes?" she demanded, clenching her fists over her blankets. To her relief, she felt weight at the end of her bed, then a warm familiar hand over hers.

  
"Fret not." whispered the voice. "I was passing by and caught ear of you muttering through the thickness of your slumber. I could not help my investigation."

  
She sighed, calming down.

  
"Cordelia." she murmured. "Thou maniac, frightening me so..."

  
"I beg your pardon, Archduchess-to-be." Cordelia smiled, grinning actually, displaying a well-groomed set of teeth. "I have not had the time to speak with you for long. Work has truly gotten the better of us, has it not?"

  
Slightly, the girl nodded.

  
"Very much so." she replied neatly.

  
Before long, they found themselves before a mirror, the elder of the two standing behind the younger, running a brush through her long, thick hair. The candlelight granted them the ability to see better than they had before, a godsend in comparison to the little amount of moonlight keeping in through the window. They chatted lightly, lingering over small things that were never to start trouble...

  
...But little did they know; it was only a gateway to a deeper form of communication. Surely, the air between them prepared to stir slower and thicker.

  
"How have you been feeling as of late?" the woman inquired the girl. "You are to be crowned Archduchess soon, are you not? Does such send butterflies parading through your torso?"

  
Juliet's eyes dulled.

  
"So you would believe. Yes. I do have butterflies flocking inside me... But not for the reasons you would figure."

  
"How so then?" Cordelia asked before pausing. When she did, she removed the brush from the girl's head. "Oh... Tell me not. It is because of that Montague boy." slowly, Juliet nodded. Cordelia heaved. "Oh Juliet... You know that boy is no good for you."

  
"If that was so, I would have never opened myself to him."

  
"Do not think you can fool me. Tybalt explained to the lot of us about your most recent visit. The boy sounds as though he has gone mad."

  
"Because of me."

  
"I believe you not."

  
"Yea, I am to blame, Cordelia. I am the one to blame because I spoke unto him the incorrect words. I vowed I would speak to him with gentleness and understanding... But instead I spoke the words that made him the most upset." her head sunk, gazing down at her lap. "And tomorrow... Tomorrow was the day he appointed us to wed. He was... Dreadfully eager. Like a child starved of sugar promised to be taken to receive a bonbon. I have never seen that sort of excitement in the eyes of any. I cannot bare the thought of what he will be like, sitting alone, wondering if I will ever show. And when I do not..."

  
Cordelia huffed, setting the brush down on the dresser.

  
"You deserve better." she growled. "Pardon me for sounding like a protective father, but a man such as that boy shall never make a good husband. I do not approve."

  
Juliet sighed.

  
"Relieve yourself." she uttered. "I will not pay him anymore visits until the day I appointed comes. And when that day does come... I can never take him as husband, lest I shall be overthrown and charged with conspiracy."

  
Quietly, Cordelia stepped to the side, the knelt next to the chair upon which the girl sat. She looked up at her sadly, eyes clouding with uncertainty.

  
"I only hope you know I want what is best for you." she murmured. "You are a darling girl that deserves more than what so many have to offer."

  
"I feel I should mention he thought the same." Juliet retorted calmly. "I payed witness to the tears building in his eyes. They were not as cold and lifeless then. Rather, they flooded with warmth. At that moment, Cordelia, I saw something miraculous. I saw a boy, a boy baring no name, who was trying his hardest to be loved. I truly do believe that if we charge only Leantes for the actions Leantes committed, not his son, then we would see a transformation. I want to see, for just one day... A Romeo who is a Montague in a world where the name of Montague holds value like gold. I see a delightful boy, one who works hard to provide for his family."

  
The room was silent for a while, Cordelia gazing up at the girl. Sorrow clouded in both their eyes.

  
"I am sorry." said the woman. "Such a day is not going to happen. You will never see that day so long as the people remember what atrocities his father committed. He is destined to die a brutal, brutal death."


	34. An Apparition

  
The cock crowed the next morning. It was the morning that would change everything. When Juliet roused, her eyes widened, soon filling with tears. Silently, she wept in her room, alone, sitting atop her bed.

  
The Archduke did not rouse so sorrowful. Rather, when his eyes opened, where he found himself curled in his corner once again, his head perked and a smile spread across his lips. He rushed to his feet, plunged himself into a cold bath, then furiously scrubbed his body. He was like a new boy when he returned from the water, his skin spotless and his hair without oil. He dried himself with a smile.

  
Upon returning to his room, he found the fat Arpeggio laying stop his bed. In a state of joy, he picked the cat up, then planted his lips on its head roughly.

  
"Good morrow." he greeted. "Are you excited?"

  
In response, Arpeggio purred, then gave him a quick mew.

  
He dressed himself in the finest clothes he had in his wardrobe, which was no understatement. The cleanest shirt was white, which was tucked into a pair of black trousers, buttoned up all the way to his neck. Over it, there was a top sharper than any double edged blade, finished off with a quaint little bow tie, which he straightened beneath his chin.

  
He combed his hair the same way his mother had taught him, leaving him before the mirror longer than he ever had with a smile. When he was done, he lastly threw on a pair of dress shoes, which he momentarily worked to polish. Arpeggio was granted the lavish of being the first to pay audience. Happy, The Archduke presented himself before the beast, who lay atop his bed as he swished his tail about.

  
"Well now?" he chirped. "Am I dapper, Arpeggio? Handsome enough to cause her heart to be still? I wish to be my best so that she may look back on this day with happiness and pride." Arpeggio didn't respond (of course), but The Archduke said nothing of it; he ran off, hurrying to the throne room.

  
The throne room; the throne room, he decided, would be the place he and Juliet would gain the title of mates. Of course, if she begged to differ, he would gladly change such. But until then, if she ever asked so, it would be the throne room, which was among one of the loveliest halls in the castle.

  
A few hours were dedicated to straightening the place up, ranging from opening curtains wide and sweeping away dust or shattered glass. By the time he was done, positioning every table or stand the way it should, The Archduke smiled softly, then clapped his hands together as he marveled at his work.

  
Then, happy with himself, he sat himself at the throne, waiting patiently for his bride.

  
But after many hours, the bride did not show.

  
He started to worry after sitting from then until the afternoon, which was slowly morphing into the evening. The sun was already headed for the west, though yet to begin to set. He rested his jaw on his chin, staying that way for the longest of times. It almost felt like years had passed, his eyes fixed on the grand double doors way before him. Every once in a while, his gaze would dart over to the window at his side, where he would see the sun.

  
Before long, a concentrated beam of gold fell in the bridge of his nose.

  
Over the city, behind mighty mountains, the sun started to hide itself, taking light away with it. The more time that passed, the more his eyes dulled. He kept hope in him, though, figuring she wanted to make their vows in the gold of the sleepy sun. Perhaps she was preparing herself diligently, and took all day so that she would look best for the occasion.

  
Deep down, though, doubt bubbled in his gut, and his head slowly began to sink.

  
His face fell in his palm, once a fist, with his eyes shut tightly. His teeth grit, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. A few tears slipped down his cheek, sniffles sounding lightly from his nostrils. He wept for a good while, messaging his temples and feeling each drop hit the delicate fabric which was his lap. He wept until the moon had risen, paleness creeping inside. A beam fell the top of the hand which shielded his face.

  
But suddenly, at that moment, the door crept open. The tears stopped, and his eyes widened. Immediately, his gaze shot up to the door, looking to see his visitor. His heart fluttered.

  
Strangely, though, when he rose to greet, he did not feel the aura which came from the presence of his Juliet; it was different, alien almost. Slowly, he went to investigate, his feet lightly walking down the hall without even making a sound.

  
To his shock, he did not find his bride.

  
Instead, he found a figure, glistening in the moonlight, dressed in a sweet white nightgown. Her hands were over her front, clasped together gently, eyes soft and comforting. His heart caught fire, threatening to give in, before it broke into a fit of beats. His eyes could not believe what he gazed upon.

  
"M-Mother?" he whispered. "Be that you?"

  
She didn't smile at him as she always did.

  
"Good evening, son." she said back. Her tone was not as soft as he recalled it. "For what reason do you stand dressed in a suit?"

  
"My bride... She is coming. I am waiting on her."

  
The woman's hand reached out to him, her fingers lightly running over his chin.

  
"Fool." she whispered. "She shall never come, I know you know. Do not humor me, believing for even a second otherwise."   
Tears built in his eyes again, his chest burning.

  
"I..." his lips quivered slightly. "Mother..." he eased closer to her setting his head stop her shoulder lightly. "Be that why you have come here? To be gentle?"

  
"For what reason would you figure such?"

  
"Because you are always gentle to me. You love me still. I always know you love me."

  
Slowly, her hand reached up at him again, then took his shoulder. She pushed him away, head and all. Shocked, his eyes widened, and he gazed at her with his hands trembling. His stare questioned.

  
"Yes, I always have been gentle." she replied. "But never was I for you, son. Did you not listen to Juliet when she came to visit you? She said you were all alone, boy, your back in a corner. Not a single soul wants to save yours, much including I. She knew. She told you of when I returned to her the Capulet blade; if I was a mother that put you above all else, I would have never given it to her, nor would I have encouraged her to slay you should Leantes die by the hand of another."

  
His face grew dark, his heart pounding.

  
"She was lying..." he murmured. "She was lying to me about such. She was simply trying to have her way with me, making me submit so that she may become the ruler of this land without lifting so much as a finger."

  
"She lied not. Deep down, son, you know that." she walked around him, her hands behind her back. "So what now, son? Not a soul loves yours, alive and dead alike. Will you resist? Regardless of what you do, the people will hunger for your blood, and if you run, you shall be found."

  
"I have done nothing wrong." he heaved. "They have no reason to hunger for my blood."

  
"Nay, you have not..." she turned around, looking at him. "You were simply born your father's son, the one God hated. If God had damned you, offering no mercy as he has the rest of us, we have every right to damn you as well. Your luck was unfortunate."

  
He felt a chill rush down his spine, inspiring him to clench his fists. Roughly, he turned himself around, forcing his face away from her.

  
"Leave me be if you have come to torture me."

  
"Hear now, that is no way to speak to your mother."

  
He furrowed his brows, then proceeded to walk away, his head hung low and his eyes dull.

  
"Leave me be." he whispered, heading for the door at the back of the room. Little did he know, his visitor slowly followed after him, silent as a mouse. He found out when he peered over his shoulder; tears welled in his gaze. "Please. Go away."

  
She remained silent, refusing to obey his requests. Rather, she continued to float after him as he trudged through the dark hallway, heading for his room. Upon returning, he homed for his corner, in which he sunk, clutching his head. His mother, from the other end of the room, watched him, her face unpainted.

  
"You take well to that corner." she whispered. "You there dream of a life you cannot have. Wherefore, foolish child? You shall never receive such a life, you should not linger on it had revive any hope. That hope shall be trampled to death someday." slowly, she approached him. "What does your mind wonder to now, son? To a faraway place where none know your name? To a small farm where you and your Juliet reside alone, living a simple life?"

  
"So I am no longer permitted to wish." he murmured spitefully, his eyes moist.

  
"It is time you accepted your fate." she replied strictly. "You are to die soon. None will remember you. None will mourn your departure." her hand stroked his cheek. "I know you are jealous. Have you considered Arturo, who you slew? His family must weep every day to see their boy no more. And the butcher? Who violated you? He lost his son as well. His eyes must be puffy each day, his heart aching. My, did he love his little boy." she smiled. It was strange, that smile. It was the same smile he remembered from boyhood, that comforting smile that always brought him comfort... It was no longer so comforting. "Who will mourn you, Montague boy?"

  
He clutched his head tighter, digging his nails in his scalp.

  
"Leave me." he hissed. "Leave me! Leave me be, confound it!" his form curled closer to the corner.

  
"They shall celebrate when your head lands in that basket, boy. They'll cheer! They didn't cheer when the intruder Leonardo was beheaded, though, did they? You must be a devil to have less value than a man who tried to rape a woman."

  
He bellowed like a howling beast, what little muscles left in his body burned with strain. His body turned him around promptly before he began to beat his skull against the wall. For the first few times, relief replaced pain, only for pain to come barging in completely uninvited a few pounds later. He heaved heavily in stopping, tears streaming down his cheeks, as did a small trickle of crimson from his forehead. Like a child looking for a monster, he turned his gaze around, worry clouding in his pupils.

  
His mother was no where to be seen.

  
Portia followed him since then, her ghastly face appearing in places he least expected. Often times, it was in the mirror when he would wander into the washroom. There, he would gaze at himself and the purple sacks weighing his eyes. His hair was oily again, a bitter frown on his lips.

  
It was then, normally, he would catch eye of her peering over his shoulder. She came without warning; rather, she would simply appear from nothing, gazing at him sternly. Such a gaze gave the reminder of when she would scold him as a child; at the time all those years ago, he never failed to feel like a villain, disappointing his precious mother.

  
Her hands glided over his stiff shoulder, whispering words into his ear.

  
"You look worse with each passing moon." her fingers ran along his features. "Your eyes are red, your lips cracked..." that same hand slide down to his chest, where she unbuttoned his shirt. When she removed it, revealing his skin, she then set her finger on each and every scar. "And look here... Women do like a scar on their man, but never this many... You must be barbaric, son, having so many wounds from fights. No woman likes that. Not even your precious Juliet would like that."   
His eyes dulled.

  
"She has seen them."

  
"And do you recall her caressing your chest as any woman would for her man?" she inquired. "Nay, she was appalled by such a gruesome sight. She did not even wish to lay a hand on you."

  
Huffing, and fighting a strange desire to laugh, he yanked himself from her grasp, then proceeded to button his shirt up again. However, she stopped him, eyeing his shoulder. A smile curled at the corner of her lips.

  
"And my..." she whispered. "Look here, darling. The wound your Juliet added to your collection..." the wound, which definitely needed covering, was uncovered, infested with clots. She proceeded to pick at it carelessly. "She must have truly loved you to drive a blade through you. Do you recall how badly it stung? Or was it so that the truth she revealed to you afterwards stung even greater?"

  
He pulled himself from her once more, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he walked away.

  
She appeared again when he had scavenged supper from the kitchen; uncooked peas and stale bread. He sat at the grand table, alone at the head, gnawing away at his meal when suddenly, out of nowhere, another seat was occupied. She smiled at him.

  
"You are the most jealous of Juliet." she said. "Aren't you, boy? She has an entire army willing to give their lives for her, willing to shield her life with their own. And even though all her family is dead, slain by your father, she continues to smile, for she is surrounded by another family that loves her dearly. What do you imagine she is doing now, Romeo? While you sup, she must sup as well. She must sup somewhere in the city at a full table, laughing and sharing stories. What about that old fellow who led the attack on your castle? He must sit at the head like a father." she eyed him, noticing that he kept his gaze averted the whole time. "Where is your father, son? Where is your family to dine with you?" she laughed lightly. "Oh yes, none wish to dine with the Montague boy; I beg your utmost pardon. Do you recall when you were little, wandering the streets with a growling belly? Do you recall that kind family took you in to eat with them? Do you recall how well you took to the father? Or the excitement that welled inside you when he promised to read a story once stomachs were filled? You wanted to listen. Oh, how you wanted to listen. How you wanted to crawl up his arm chair and be close enough to take in his warmth on that cold night, perhaps be fortunate enough to sit on his bouncing lap."

  
It had gotten to the point where he no longer uttered a word; he rose from his seat, then took his plate of food. She did not talk when they walked, so he decided to eat as he wandered about the dark and dreary halls.

  
He found himself resting in the security of his corner again, his head atop his knees. His eyes were shut lightly; he dreamed good dreams. Happy dreams. He began taking well to sleep when sleep rewarded him with happy dreams. When he was awake, his mother would appear at some point or another. Most of the time, when he opened his eyes after a good slumber, he would find her next to him, sitting on the unmade bed. She was always smiling at him.

  
"You fancy sleep." she said. "It is the only place you feel welcome." he knelt before him, gazing into his quiet eyes. "Worry not then, son; soon, you shall be asleep for a very, very long time."

  
Trying his hardest to ignore her, he turned his head away, then returned to the realm of sleep.


	35. Birthright

Curio departed from the room, shutting the door behind him. His eye dulled.

  
Before his stood two curious individuals: Francisco and the smaller Antonio. They gazed at him with anticipation.

  
"Well?" inquired the blonde. "How be she?"

  
Curio shook his head.

"She has yet to desire to depart from her room." he replied softly. "I am worried."

  
"Well..." Antonio began. "Do recall that rumor has it she was supposed to wed The Archduke a few days ago..."

  
"She would not be sad over a trifle such as he." Francisco scoffed. "Tybalt informed us of how he behaved when he took her to give him one last visit." he frowned at the boy. "And for heaven's sake, Antonio; call him The Archduke no more. He is not The Archduke now, seeing that he is powerless."

  
With a flush, Antonio blinked.

  
"O-Of course." he replied. "The Wretched Montague boy, then."

  
At the moment, the door to Juliet's room swept open, stealing the group's attention. In the doorway stood a groggy Juliet, her hair matted and the bags beneath her eyes stretching. She frowned nastily at them, rubbing an eyebrow. Francisco, with his eyes warm, smiled at her despite such.

  
"Good day, Your Majesty." he greeted happily, bestowing a bow. "How might you-"

  
"I have made it a clear demand that the name of Montague is not to be drug through mud and grime." she growled. "Need I remind you?"

  
One of Curio's brows dropped.

  
"Y... Have you truly?" he whispered.

  
"Clearly, it has not spread like wildfire as I thoroughly aspired." she growled, rolling her eyes. "Let every ear hear."   
Antonio gasped, unsure of what to do with his confused hands.

  
"I never thought I'd see the day; our Juliet defending the name of Montague?"

  
"After he slew three of your men in cold blood!" Curio bellowed. "Have you no respect for the perished? For those you've sacrificed?"

  
"Does the adder have no right to strike should he feel threatened?" she calmly replied. "It is indeed tragic that those men lost their lives, but it is even more so knowing it could have been prevented had the sheep not been led astray. Solving death by more death is barbaric and uncivil. Why else would God demand we love our foes?" after a blink, she turned to Francisco. "Have you the date?"

  
Francisco blinked, heaving in carefully.

  
"It is Sunday, Your Majesty." he replied softly. "Such shall be changing shortly, though, I should mention."

  
The three watched her and how her eyes dulled. Slowly, she nodded in understanding, her breaths growing heavy and thick.   
"Two days then." she whispered. "Two days until our departure."

  
"Neo Verona will be a different country then." Curio added, his arms crossed. "The people are ready, their blades sharp and ready to be brandished."

  
"They're fools to prepare weapons. They should have figured by now that I will let no soul hold him at blade-point besides myself." she huffed. "Barbarians, so thirsty for blood..."

  
"They are your people, My Lady." Francisco humbly corrected. "I would not wish to be barren of their favor; I would discriminate such speech. The people are powerful in numbers, not to mention quite intelligent. Such is why I should remind you that you cannot back down on your original plans."

  
Francisco was correct; Juliet knew she could not back down from her plans. She had to continuously remind herself of such a spine chilling fact. Often times, her gut would throw a wretched tantrum should the mere thought dare to enter her mind. She tossed and turned many times during the night, or morning rather. Sweat beaded at her forehead, her breathing became labored; her chest grew heavy and sore.

  
Dreaming once again for the umpteenth time, she found herself atop a plush bed, a plush bed wide and tall. Immediately, for reasons she did not know, red crept across her cheeks, which felt warm and puffy. Warmth pooled in her belly as her eyes wandered around, observing the orange of the candle light. Roses shared a vase with irises on every nightstand. Dry rice was littered around the bed. Neither red nor blue fought for the room; conquering both of them was a rich shade of violet, deep and majestic. On her finger still, she found a simple golden ring.

  
It came as no surprise to find him there next to her, curled up like a freezing kitten. His breaths were soft and peaceful, eyes shut lightly; a smile was on his lips, though it was faint. He was healthy once again, restored to how she had come to know him. His arms were thick, his chest elevated to a height that would intimidate his foes, his hands were large and mighty. Her face flushed deeper as she observed him with pleasure.

  
Slowly, a hand glided to him, fondling with the buttons of his nightshirt; of course, the moment he felt such a thing, his eyes darted open in surprise. Flushing just as much as she, he turned his gaze to her, the spark his irises brightening.   
"I... I see you are ready now..." he murmured thickly, watching as she finished. She observed then, as the sides of his shirt gave her hints of his milky skin, when he brought himself up, then planted either of his knees at her sides, hovering over her. Her skin shivered at each hit breath he heaved onto her, her eyes shutting lightly as he brought his face to the crook of her neck. Out of instinct, she wrapped her arms around his nape, easing him lower.

  
Then suddenly, he grew limp, his weight suddenly crashing down upon her.

  
Her vision blacked, but her sense of touch was as hyper as ever.

  
She felt around him, searching for a problem. She could not find it. Even so, against her hopes, she felt him still. The way he felt was a feeling she had never felt before... But she knew exactly what it was.

  
Juliet awoke, her lungs giving way to a shout. She found herself drenched, shivering as though she was cold, when in all actuality she was burning. She wrapped her arms around herself, heaving, whimpering, allowing tears to torrent from her eyes. She murmured whispers to herself, choking on her words, trembling through the rest.

  
"I cannot handle such." she wheezed. "I cannot handle such!"

  
Miserable. Juliet could best be described as miserable these past two days. On her final night at the theatre, the final night before she was to head out and commence her last attack on the Montague boy, she slept not. She lie awake, moping, her hands shaking and warmth gathering in her gut. She curled up multiple times, hoping to ease the ache in her belly, only to rediscover each time that it was of no use.

  
Sometimes, for short periods of time, she would drift into a light state of slumber, her eyes barely shut. He was always there in her dreams, either caressing her lovingly or chasing her angrily. On one occasion, she helplessly watched as he was pursued by the commoners, screaming for the help of any. She awoke before she ever plunged too deeply into one of those wretched scenarios, though, thank goodness; she awoke, panting pitifully fast as she brought herself up.

  
There were even times when she considered delaying the attack again, only for her idea to quickly be shot down when she remembered what Francisco had said unto her. Even so, she daydreamed about the pleasures of such an action, milking just a little more time of solace. This dreaded pattern continued until the sun rose and the distant cock crowed. She rose from her bed when just a hint of sunlight kept in through her window, her brows furrowed groggily, purple bags hanging beneath her eyes. She sat on her bed for a while, thinking to herself.

  
Today was the day.

  
She knew that.

  
The whole country knew that.

  
It was a day history was to be made; Neo Verona's biggest change she's ever had in fourteen years.

  
  
**Along came the day,**

**  
The day for which they've prayed.**

**  
The day in which The Rose would finally end its play.**

**  
Soon The Iris would move in to stay.**

 

**The red was wilting, blackening like smoke,**

**  
Its life Neo Verona was pleased to choke.**

**  
Strangely, though, little did The Rose do to score,**

**  
Even with its thorns all gone, it made no more.**

 

**Neo Verona knew of its future and waited like so.**

**  
The blood in a Shield was dreadfully low.**

**  
But even through she was sure of her winning,**

**  
Her Sword began to wonder if the murder was a sinning.**

 

Cordelia stood behind her, running a brush through her thick curtain of hair. Juliet, preparing herself before a mirror, had not smiled even once today. A time or two, the woman from behind would peer over the girl's shoulder, observing her with a grin. She ran her fingers through that same long hair.

  
"My, look at you." she said gently. "You look prepared for war."

  
It was true. At last, Juliet bore her crimson armor. Her crest was small and planted atop her chest. On her opposite side, upon a mighty cape, it was large, printed in detail and majesty. She heard metal click against metal with each movement she made. Her eyes looked down at her hands, gloved, and flexed them; for a moment, she could had sworn she felt the hilt of a blade in her grasp.

  
"I find no comfort in it." she murmured dully. "I wish to shed."

  
"For years we have awaited this day." Cordelia reminded. "Your country is waiting as well. It is eager for its new ruler. You cannot disappoint them, now, can you?"

  
Her eyes narrowed.

  
"No matter what I am to do, I shall disappoint them." she growled, hanging her head. "Oh Cordelia, I am not ready for this... I wish to run. I wish to escape."

  
She paused when a pair of arms wrapped around her torso, its grip tight. Cordelia pressed her head on top of her shoulder, sighing lightly.

  
"Thou pitiful thing, collapsing under such intense pressure." she whispered. "Worry not. You are not alone in this. I am here for you, just as Conrad. Just as my brother. Just as Curio. Just as your cousin." she ran a hand through her hair again, gentle. "Your father left you a gift before he departed fourteen years ago, Juliet. Go and take it, take it and hold it tightly so that you may never lose it again. Your family loved you so very much; they want this for you. They want you to have the honor of resuming the throne passed by so many generations. I know you will someday grow into a wise and noble Archduchess."

  
The last piece of her armor was gifted unto her; the Capulet blade, freshly polished and shimmering in the light. Upon beholding it to her, Conrad dipped his head, then lowered his old body to its knees. In doing so, the entire room followed. With her face straight and her eyes without tears, Juliet eyed down at the heirloom before softly taking it and strapping it to her hip. With one word, they headed out of the theatre, where a crowd greeted them from the outside.

  
Remaining, Willy smiled, toying with his mustache as he watched them head out. At his side, Emilia watched with awe.

  
"I believe it not: Odin being the Capulet girl the entire time."

  
Willy chuckled as he brought a hand to the crown of her head, which he pat a time or two.

  
"A new act is to begin for our wonderful country." he smiled. "May the good times come to stay."


	36. The Plunge

Across the city, deep within the halls of the castle, the Montague boy stood at the edge of a balcony. His careful eyes payed audience to the sight before him. All of the city had abandoned their indoors, crowding around the streets. A way was made for a parade, one led by a single steed which prodded gently along towards the entrance to the castle. The sight brought his eyes to dull.

  
From behind, a hand set itself on his armored shoulder, patting it gently.

  
"They come, son." observed her voice. "Does that not strike fear into your heart? Look at you; even with your armor of blue and your family sword at your hip, you stand no chance against such a wave of passionate people." her fingers roamed to the crest implanted on his chest. "How does it feel to have an entire country marching towards you, screaming death to you?" she then caressed his still jaw before pointing over the balcony. "Look, son. The drop is high. Even your armor will not save you from a fall. Do you not wish to jump? If you do not jump, you will suffer an immense amount of torture before you die. Wherefore do you not end yourself with peace? Fall, Romeo; fall and hit the ground. You will feel nothing, and your sorrows will ease away. You will sleep, just as you fancy. Perhaps you will enter a limbo of some sort, living in a mirage of luxury. You will live on that farm in a land where people know you not, and every night after a long day's work, you will return to find your wife and supper waiting for you."

  
He turned around, his face baring a frown. Simply, he left the balcony without a word, his body stiff and his shoulders aching. He trembled horribly as he made his way to the throne room, moisture welling in his eyes. His body rested at the throne upon arrival, his arms set gently upon the rests. Heaving, his eyes watched the tall double doors.

  
Any minute now, his visitors would come through them.

  
The front of the castle was flooded with frenzied people, all begging to get in and follow after The Archduchess. Strict, she demanded they be held back, allowing only a select few inside with her. Those, of course, would be the fiercest of loyalists and none other than her close family: Conrad, Curio, Francisco, and Tybalt.

  
With the entrance to the courtyard blocked by a wall of soldiers, the group pressed on. Those on the other side, the vast majority of the country, awaited eagerly, paying eye to the blue flag waving at the top of the castle. Soon, they knew, it was to be taken down and replaced with one of red.

  
The front door was broken down by the several men, shoving the pile of furniture from their path. With their way clear, the group awaited for their leader to come through, their heads dipped. When she did not move, Conrad approached her carefully.  
"Your Majesty." he whispered gently, noticing the green tone on her face. "Come now, we are only steps away from victory." he took her hand in his, holding it. "We shall be here for you. You are not alone."

  
She heaved a quivering sigh before raising her head and straightening her posture. With strength in her deceiving eyes, she stepped forth, leading her men inside the halls of the castle.

  
The inside was just as gloomy as she had last seen it three weeks ago. It looked abandoned almost.

  
The sight, alien to all besides Tybalt, came as a shock to her followers, who were armed and ready for a savage boy to jump out at them. Juliet bore no fear in her eyes; at the front, where none could see them, she allowed them to well with worry, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. Their marching down the halls was loud, telling and warning of their coming. She hoped the Montague boy would prepare when he heard them, that he would raise his head high and brush the tears from his eyes.

  
The doors to the throne swung open, singing a shriek down the hall. There, in the entrance, they stood, observing the inside. Light spilled in the room from the many wide windows, providing ample sight. None could miss the dark figure far at the opposite end of the room, sitting at the chair adorned with gold and blue. He was still, limp almost, spying on them.

  
She walked inside slowly, pausing halfway. At last, she parted her lips, giving way to a powerful shout.

  
"Romeo Candore Van deMontague." she rang, staring the boy down viciously. "Rise. That seat is not yours to sit upon."   
Though delayed, the boy obeyed her; he stood, then sauntered to them. His eyes were dead. His skin hugged his cheek bones. His lankiness made him seem weak. He stood before them, still and quiet, cowering.

  
"Welcome home." he murmured. "Have you come to finally take what is yours?"

  
"Address me with respect." she replied roughly. She watched his eyes refuse to change.

  
"Ah." he said. "Pardon me, I beg." he sunk to his knees. "Your Majesty."

  
Frowning, she watched him for a while, watching as he did not budge from his bow. She heaved a sigh, then gave her men a quick observation. Her eyes saw fury in the eyes of Tybalt, who stood behind her, his arms stiffly at his side. It was best figured that he took the boy's words as lies. Tension gathered in her shoulders quickly, so she turned back to the boy in hopes of resolving it before it got out of hand.

  
"I have come today with intentions to shed mercy upon thee." she said lowly. "If you submit willingly, I will consider sparing you, perhaps banishing you to a faraway land where you shall never be heard from again." she narrowed her eyes. "However, should you resist... Your fate should be clear."

  
"I have committed atrocities unto your name, have I not?" he inquired heavily. "Though I bare a blade at my side, I shall lay it before your feet and ease away should you command. You may kill me. I know you wish to, do you not? Is revenge not an eye for an eye? If my father slaughtered your entire family, it would be justice that you slaughter his entire family."

  
The room fell silent, the eyes of her men widening in surprise.

  
That easily?

  
The Montague boy gave up that easily? Be it so? But how so?

  
Tybalt would stand and take it not; after a long line of nothing, mainly The Archduchess standing still and thinking to herself pitifully, he stepped forth, drawing his dual blades from his back. He looked down at her, the bridge of his nose wrinkling.  
"Your Majesty. Cousin." he growled, prepared to pounce. "If you have not the will to do such, I shall be honored to do so in your stead." without even a word from her, he turned back to the boy. Not even a second later, he rushed to him, his blades born, eager to strike.

  
To his surprise, though, the Montague blade met his pair with an equal amount of force. The face of the Montague boy promised rage, pressing against blade against his angrily. Slowly, he brought himself to his feet, continuing to clash with him.   
"Thou art a fiend." Tybalt snarled. "You lied to us, stating that you would humbly lay your blade down and offer your blood. Thou liar!" The Montague boy shoved him off of his blade, his pupils slim. Somehow, though, even when there should have been rage, nothing clouded within his irises besides the hollowness of death. He heaved, shivering as he stared the man down. Tybalt growled. "Your father killed my uncle, my treasured uncle! I am one of the many that misses him so! I considered offering you my sympathy, but you have lost such a privilege!"

  
The Montague boy frowned.

  
"I am sorry." he said, monotone. "I did not extend my offer to you. It was preserved only for your Archduchess."

  
Heaving, Tybalt withdrew his blades, forcing himself to replace them on his back. In doing so, he turned to The Archduchess, his brows furrowing. She did not eye back, though; she gazed at the floor, her hands balled at her sides. Her breathes were uneasy.

  
"Go then. All of you." she whispered.

  
Puzzled, the lot's heads perked, gazing at her strangely.

  
"Who shall go?" inquired Conrad.

  
"You, my men. Leave this room." she growled. "I will handle things alone."

  
"B... But... Your Majesty... It is much too-"

  
"That was an order." she hissed. "You are a hypocrite if you deem me archduchess but refuse to obey my command. Go and raise my flag to tell my people the battle is won. Preserve the elder, though, for I shall have my way with it later."

  
After a moment hindered, Conrad allowed his shoulders to sink, his breath slow and steady.

  
"Yes, My Lady." he replied in defeat before leading away the rest of the men. "I shall be here should you call."

  
When the door shut behind them, leaving the two alone, a slam rang through the long, empty hall. It sent a chill down her quivering spine, a burn to her chest. Her brows furrowed as she turned once again to the Montague boy. He had just finished returning his blade to his sheath, his expression grim and tired.

  
For just a moment, he seemed like a different boy.

  
"Kneel." she demanded of him. He did exactly so, his exhausted body rough in the action. Wondering, his eyes traveled up to her, asking quietly. She did not know what he asked, but she knew his questions would get them nowhere. Quiet, she drew closer to him, a hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. "Lay your blade at my feet."

  
She watched as his hand weakly moved to his hilt again. It carefully took the weapon, shedding it slowly and steadily. With his head dipped lowly, he set it down before her toes, his actions sloth and without even a lick of menace. Quicker than he, she kicked it away without respect, watching it glide across the slick floor gracefully. When it settled in a corner, she eyed him once again.

  
"I have considered shedding mercy on you." she murmured. "Rejoice."

  
"Nay." he whispered back. "You wish to kill me. Take revenge. Avenge the family that loved you so. Your family."

  
Her face dropped, mirroring distaste.

  
"Not a bone in me wishes to kill you." she replied. "Therefore, I shall not."

  
His head lifted. His eyes captured hers. Somehow, even with the deadness inside them, she was captivated. The green was murky, losing power, weakening. Never before had she seen a healthy person... So in the very process of death. It pushed her senses amiss, and feared of the point of no return.

  
"I want something from you." he rasped weakly.

  
She eased closer.

  
"...What is it that you want?" she inquired, careful. Her response was half in that same dead gaze. Slowly, he brought a finger to his forehead like a child, poking it gently.

  
"I want your lips upon my forehead." he answered. "And then, tell me that you hold me dearest... Whether your words hold worth or not... And once you are finished, thrust your blade into my throat quickly, but gently..."

  
Her chest grew heavy, her eyes moist. She had plans of her own. She did not wish to do such a thing... No... Not now, never...  
She kneeled before him, eye level, as she gently took either side of his head. She tugged him closer, pulling him into her as she planted a soft kiss upon his head. Her lips lingered for a while before releasing him. Over the site, she humbly whispered:

"I hold you dearest."

  
Then they waited. They waited for a long time. Silence rung. Not even their breaths could be heard. And, of course, the Montague boy at last budged, heaving a quivering sigh.

  
"Now kill me." he requested.

  
Her grip on his skull tightened.

  
"Nay. I shall not." she kissed him on the forehead once again. He began to struggle stubbornly.

  
"Kill me."

  
"Nay."

  
"Kill me."

  
"Nay."

  
His voice grew more and more forceful. At last, he snapped.

  
"Kill me! Kill me now!" he wrestled away from her, revealing a snarling face. "I want death."

  
"You do not." she replied, forcing herself into calmness. "Death is not what you want."

  
"Look! Look out there into the city! Look at them all, all thirsting for my blood!" his pupils shrunk... Yet somehow, a grin spread across his face. "It shall never end. It all shall never end! So long as I live it shall never end!" he gave way to a bellow of laughter. "Is this Hell? Have I already died after a life of sin? Be this the dwelling of Satan?" he laughed again, gazing at his palms. "Nay, nay! Hell is paradise! Let me go there! Let me go! Let flames lick my fingers! It shall surely feel marvelous!" he rose then, sauntering elsewhere, quivering and laughing. "Kill me, kill me! The commoners cannot get me if I am in Hell! Ha ha! Let them try to come and get me!" suddenly, without warning, he collapsed, hitting the ground. Laying, he hugged his sides, a torrent streaming from either perished eye. "Come! Drive your blade into me, I beg. Ha ha. I want to feel my blood seep into my clothing, then feel my spirit leave my body. For what reason do you stall? Who shall miss me? Who shall say 'dear me, it is unfortunate the Montague boy has died. How I wish he was here to enjoy this time with us.' Ha ha! None shall say such a thing! Ha ha!"

  
At last, after a long while of watching pitifully, she saw him slow his fit. Soon he was laying still, stiff as a board. His eyes were open wide, his teeth clamped together in a grin so hard his gums gave way to blood. Each heave was stressed, accompanied by a wheeze. She dared to approach him, kneeling at his side to gaze into his eyes once again. He chuckled.

  
"They're coming for me..." he giggled. "They're coming for me... They're coming to beat and rape and slash and abuse and starve me... Ha ha... They will beat me... Ha ha... Ha... The butcher... Ha ha... He... Ha ha... He will rape me again.... Ha ha... Ha... Ha ha... Ha ha ha ha... I... Will be out in the streets... Again... Ha ha... Where they all... Despise me..."

  
Nothing more came from him but mumbles and chuckles, his arms twitching on occasion. He seemed lost now, somewhere else.

  
Perhaps he was beyond the point of return.

 


	37. Renovations

The flag rose.

  
Never before had a city been so full of cheer. Shouts rang, singing broke loose, and from the crowns of buildings came showers of irises, all falling on the upbeat crowd. The streets were full of dancing, arms of strangers locking with the arms of strangers. They wrote songs on the fly, laughing, whimsical as lards.

  
With a grin, Willy ran outside of his theatre, Emilia in tow, singing as well. Yes, it was true Willy's talents lie elsewhere, places other than singing, but he kept on, ignoring any shame. He and Emilia joined the celebration, proclaiming the victory of the Iris with pride and joy.

  
On the inside of the castle, within walls that were quickly being polished and refined, a lot stood inside the throne room. They lined the sides of a mighty train, their stature stout and their chests exaggerated.

  
They fought the urge to watch her pass by.

  
She smiled at them as she walked, her feet padding along the rug of crimson; first she passed Francisco, a gentle and loyal man. Then Curio, the strong. Then her honorable cousin, Tybalt. Then her closest of friends, Cordelia. Then her side-kick, little Antonio. And, of course, the father in her life: the elderly Conrad. He, unlike the rest of the loyalists, gazed at her with warmth spilling in his eyes; he smiled at her as the trumpets played to the noonday sun.

  
She presented herself to the religious leader baring the crown, her eyes flooded with delight and humbleness. He returned the gaze with one of equality. Her hand was held up, and her lips uttered forth an oath, an oath of loyalty and integrity, morality and gentle understanding. Beating, her heart corresponded with each of her words, pulsing with passion.

  
A mighty cheer roared down the halls when the piece finally rested upon her rightful head.

  
Everything felt right, she swore. She presented a speech for he long awaiting country, her voice roaring like a mighty lion; she spoke words of persistent devotion, her hands trembling with power. Not a thing, she swore, felt amiss. Even when Conrad approached her to give her a big, unexpected kiss to the lips felt nowhere close to wrong. Even when every spec of blue was torn down and replaced with red, not a thing felt most of place.

  
Before her very eyes, the mighty castle changed rapidly in just a few puny hours.

  
But, she knew not; The Archduchess was deceiving herself.

  
She was not as pleased as she thought this victory would leave her, she came to discover. Later that night, after tending to necessities and exchanging greetings with loved ones and loyalists, she felt a pinch of emptiness in her chest.

  
She pushed it away.

  
However, a visitor came to see her.

  
She figured she was done with talking for the entire night. Or, that was until a man finally approached her as she strode through the foyer. He was a tall and bulky man, his arms beefy from work. His face was well groomed, his hair combed, his clothes like the best he could salvage. Tears welled in his eyes as he dropped to his knees before her, dipping his head deeply.   
"Your Majesty." he uttered. Her eyes pooled with warmth as she gazed down at him, a soft smile spreading across her lips. One if her subjects, she had to remind herself; he was now one of her many subjects. Her fingers reached down to beckon his head up.

  
"Greetings." she replied, giggling slightly. "And who might be you?"

  
"I am Sir Mazzio, My Archduchess. I am the butcher as many recall me..."

  
In a moment's worth, that feeling she worked so hard to push away came crashing back. A gasp entered her lips suddenly, her chest burning.

  
"G-Good morrow to you, Sir Mazzio." she said, shaken. "What have you come here for?"

  
"I have come to offer my utmost gratitude." he answered, tears spilling from his eyes. "The name of Montague has brought ruin to my family and I. I thank you so very profusely for ending him. I thank you for avenging my wife and my son. Oh, how I thank you..."

  
She did not exactly return his gratitude; rather, she remained still, nodding slightly, unprofessional.

  
"...Go home now, Sir Mazzio; go home to your family." she uttered quietly, her head sinking. As she brought himself up, Mazzio bowed before her, the took a deep breath.

  
"Of course, Your Majesty. But please, allow me one question."

  
"Granted."

  
"What day shall you execute the Montague boy? What day shall his head land in a basket before a guillotine?"

  
Immediately, heat shot up her body, turning her red. For just a moment, her breath left her, and her throat contracted, preventing her from resuming. She stood still, gazing up at the beefy man with a pair of wide eyes. Before she knew it, she had backed away like a cowardly hound, simply uttering:

"Good night to you, Sir Mazzio." 

  
She had rushed to her room; the grand room once inhabited by the Montague boy. It had been changed greatly, so much so that she no longer recognized it. Little did she care; the moment she shut the door behind her, she sunk to the ground, leaning against the postern. At last, her breath returned, but it returned labored and heavy.

  
Tears welled in her brown eyes.

  
"Confound it." she hissed to herself, burying her face in a palm. "Confound it... So long as my heart continues to pump love for that boy... This familial war shall never come to a truce. These people... These wretched people... They will not let it happen."

  
She ultimately reached a decision that night; the following morning, she would head down to the depths of the castle, to the dank cobblestone keep below the surface of the earth. It was there, she knew, all cells were empty but one; he was down there, likely curled in the corner. She would visit and decide what sort of fate she could settle upon for him.

  
Oh, how she longed to keep him for herself, to have him cling to her side every hour of the day. It would be the safest she has ever felt, she was sure, to be reassured that her husband was there to protect her.

  
Her heart stilled.

  
Husband.

  
Yes, that was right. The Montague boy... Was her husband. Or, at least, soon to be her husband. She knew that she would make her vow to him truthfully, just as he; husband was the best name to give him, not fiancé. Her cheeks warmed at the thought, the 'h' word echoing through her dreary head. Yes, Romeo was her beloved husband now, and she could not abandon him so easy.

  
It was a responsibility to visit him the soonest she could.

  
But to her horror, the next morning came. She roused to find breakfast at her side, a robe and a fresh set of clothes set out on her dresser. Outside, beyond the tall glass window, she heard the melody of working men, all calling demands to one another and grunts of labor. It was only a moment before her mind wandered to her important affairs.

  
Scarfing down breakfast and rushing into her clothes, she hurried about the room, not even bothering to bathe despite the fact that she had neglected to the night before. Before she knew it, she was out and about, rushing down the halls of the castle. A bow came to be with each person she passed; surprisingly, that number was smaller than she anticipated. To where has the lot of her subjects gone? Little did she care, she was too busy with her own desires.

  
Her feet soared down the many flights of stairs, drawing her closer and closer to the dungeon. When the air grew colder, the environment darker, she knew was following the correct path. At last, the sight of a torch made her eyes widen, then brighten.

  
"Who goes there?" inquired a guard positioned at the front of the keep. He readied his weapon steady. However, she called out to them before anything could come of it.

  
"It is I." she replied. "Your Archduchess."

  
Quickly, almost horrified, the guard gasped, then retracted his weapon, sweat beading at his forehead.

  
"My utmost apologies, Your Majesty!" he dropped to a bow. "Have you a wish? Nothing here lingers, I should mention. I have used my common sense to figure you have gone to the square of town for the beheading."

  
Her pupils shrunk.

  
"Beheading?" she echoed. "I wish to see the Montague boy; to where has he gone?"

  
Slowly, the guard raised his head, his eyes wide.

  
"The town square, My Lady..." he answered carefully. "The leader of your guard, Sir Conrad, took him this morning."

  
For just a moment, the world became still, her heart beat loud like thunder. Her eyes widened with each passing second, her lips parting with horror.

  
"Nay..." she began with a whisper before it finally escalated to a scream. "Nay! At once! Ready for me a steed!"

  
And with that, the two bolted down the halls, her fists clenched with anger.

 


	38. A Final Saving Grace

The only thing he could see was blackness. The only thing he could hear was shouting, angered shouting. The only thing he could taste was the sweat trickling into his gaping mouth. The only thing he could smell was stale blood. The only thing he could feel was a rope bound tightly around his wrists, his knees forced to the ground, the front of his neck upon a slab of lumber.

  
At the moment, the most he wished for was that his hearing would cease to exist, that all would silence. Silence was all he wished for. He heard constant words, words that he could pick out from the crowd; they were all angry... Yet seasoned with horrific glee.

  
Death.

  
Blood.

  
Montague.

Roses.

  
Wilt.

  
Wither.

  
Blue.

  
Burn.

  
He felt his breathing pick up, transforming into heaves, his hands trembling furiously. Every now and then, he would struggle with what little strength he could salvage inside him; each attempt left him barren of results. His sweat, he could have sworn, was turning red. The slab of wood felt sharp. The back of his neck, exposed, burned without having a thing touch it. His skin crawled all over.

  
Every shout from the crowd worsened him and his condition, his eyes growing wider and his pants filled with more pain. He wanted out. He wanted out. Footsteps approached near him, so he felt when the boards of the platform sunk just a pinch. From there he heard a voice.

  
"We should remove the sack from his head." a close voice suggested. "He deserves no honor. Let him gaze into the faces of those who despise him. Let him go to hell with this last image branded in his memory."

  
All of a sudden, he wanted his sight to die just as much as his hearing.

  
Horrified, he felt the roughness of cloth leave his head. In an instant, a blood thirsty cry erupted from the mass before him. Immediately, his dead eyes widened even more, more than he thought they ever would. The audience stretched far, farther than he could see. Such applied every which way he focused his gaze.

  
At the front, he saw people looking up at him, their faces contorted. Grown men bit their thumbs when their eyes met. Children, in the safety of their parent's arms, would reveal their tongue. Women's stares would narrow and their wrinkles would scrunch. He quivered more so, more with every second he gazed.

  
No matter how badly he wanted to, he could not shut his eyes. He could not escape to any sort of solace.

  
Conrad, from a distance, stood, a frown on his face and a scroll tucked beneath his arm; with a pat on the back from Francisco, he stepped forth, standing at the side of the guillotine as though it was his love. Unraveling the paper, he cleared his throat.

  
"Citizens of Neo Verona!" he announced powerfully over the screams. "I present to you Romeo Cadore Van DeMontague, the final Rose of the Montague vine! Our former Archduke!" the crowd raged with fury and passion in an instant. "Today, beneath this sweltering sun, he is to be put to death by means of beheading for treason against our country! For unjust decisions! For theft of the crown, never his to wear!"

  
The shouting grew louder. Rocks began to pelt the platform, many of which homed to his face. He took them with a wince, unable to dodge, nor shield himself. A roar was evoked when one struck the top of his eye lid... But no shot stood out to him more. A child caught his eye. He watched as he was armed with a rock, held up by his helpful father, aiming right for him. It left his grasp, and it's journey in the sky ended with a smack to his forehead.

  
He witnessed a smile on the boy's face as his father congratulated him.

  
Before they knew it, the mass became impatient, demanding that the suspending rope would be severed. Conrad, an obedient man, took the orders with pride, delivering them to the executioner. Also with pride, the executioner nodded, then proceeded to arm himself with his axe.

  
But then, of course, when the blade was raised, a loud roar erupted from above, causing all to halt.

  
"Now see here!" it exclaimed in fury. Quickly, with the rope still in tact, all eyes averted to the sky above them, watching as a brown steed delivered a red haired woman. Upon landing, she slid off its back with an expression of rage. Without even explaining herself, and as the lot went to bow before her, she headed straight to the executioner, then snatched the axe from his grasp. There, she rammed its sharp edge into the floor of the platform; there it stayed.

  
"Must death always be the answer?" she bellowed before her bowing crowd. "I will not stand for such a thing! Up! Up and explain yourselves!" she especially scrutinized Conrad, who looked up at her with worry clouding in his eyes. Upon rising, he stood tall.

  
"M-My Lady... The people want the event which is this. We must work to make them pleased." he explained calmly.

  
The Archduchess bought it not.

  
"Enough! Enough about those confounded people! I care not of anything they wish to have! I will not let them have this!" the bridge of her nose wrinkled. "Remove him from the guillotine at once."

  
Not a thing was presented to argue with; the men went to work and opened the boy's exit, unhanding his neck. He gasped for air upon freedom, his wrist, still bound, trembling. The Archduchess payed no mind to the angered crowd as the process took place; she watched them with a glare as the Montague boy was loaded onto the steed upon which she arrived, her fists clenched tightly; in fact, it was so tight, she felt her nails dig into her skin.

  
The air became lighter upon returning to the castle. Against what many had figured she would do, she did not land in the courtyard; rather, she landed elsewhere, disappeared actually, the Montague boy along with her. The garden was where she rested the steed's wings; it was here, already, no roses remained. Rather, like the convent on the other side of the city, it was decked with irises.

  
Once sliding off the back of her ride, she assisted him in doing the same, seeing that his hands remained tied behind his back. He took her offer without a word.

Come to find out, he was not full of any words at all.

  
The Archduchess led him through the maze, recalling what the direction he had taught her. In no time, without any hassle, they found themselves protection from the sun beneath to the pure white gazebo. There, at the bench, she had them sit.   
He was stiff as a board, his pupils shrinking still. Taking notice of this, she heaved a sigh, then brought her arms around his neck. Gently, she pulled the side of his head to her chest, caressing his jaw with the tips of her fingers. Little did she know; his expression did not change, even when it should have.

  
"Do you hear the larks?" she inquired quietly. "They sing beautifully, chirping without a care in the world." she brought her lips to the top of his head, laying a small kiss. "You are safe now, I promise. There no longer lingers any need to fret. Do you hear the peaceful breezes? They commemorate us and our integrity, my darling. Does it not warm your aching heart?"

  
He remained still, his breaths shallow. Worry welled in her chest, weighing it down. Quickly, she lifted his head, directing it to hers. Their eyes met; chills rushed down her spine the moment they did. With her heartbeat increasing, she gently shook him and his head, seeing that it did nothing to change him. It was at that moment, she swore, he looked like nothing more than a shell.

  
"Romeo." she whispered. "Romeo, darling. Awaken, I beg. Say at least a word to gift my mind well being."

  
At last, his eyes darted away to the side, the tip of his tongue running over his lips.

  
"I saw their faces." he heaved. "They looked like demons, demons screaming to rip me limb to limb."

  
Her gaze softened, and a sigh escaped her lips. Slowly, she took him to her chest again, messaging the crown of his head and planting kiss after kiss. Her hand stroked his short blue hair, running her fingernails down his arching back. She was laying the umpteenth kiss on his head, murmuring coos, when a voice interrupted her, catching her by surprise.

  
"My Lady." it rang, soon revealing Conrad, who came around a hedge. His gaze narrowed the moment he saw the position of the two. "Your men and I request an immediate convention." he continued, disregarding the sight.

  
Frowning, The Archduchess continued to stroke her husband's back.

  
"I will be there momentarily." she replied. "Now if you would, please, leave us alone."

  
She came to visit them about a half an hour later after dropping the Montague boy off at her room. There, gathered in the dining room around a large table, she found her men, all awaiting her with frowns. Upon entering, they rose to bow, returning to as they were promptly after dismissal. Slowly, she took her seat at the head of the table, her expression grim. After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat, lowering it a tone.

  
"Good morrow." she greeted. "For what reason has this convention been requested?"

  
"It should be quite clear." replied Curio thoroughly. "Before your entire country you proclaimed that you are in favor of the Montague boy. That was foolish."

  
"I do not deem it foolish." she said in response, her frown arching. Not too long later, she held up her left hand, stretching her fingers apart. "Have the lot of you not payed eye to the ring wrapped around my finger?"

  
Conrad, seeming to realize for the first time, allowed a grunt to escape the prison of his teeth.

  
"You took him as husband." he growled in observation.

  
"If you desire to be technical, he is my fiancé, not yet my husband. In my heart, though, I know our vows have already been made to each other and God. Therefore, I do consider him my mate."

  
Tybalt, from a distance, narrowed his eyes.

  
"Pardon my asking." he grumbled. "Have you consummated this commitment?"

  
"Nay, not yet." she replied, unhindered. "But I feel such a thing shall happen very soon."

  
"Then he is not your husband, and you have not made a commitment." Tybalt rose. "As your appointed Royal Advisor, I strongly suggest breaking this union before it is sealed. It will bring only disaster for you. The boy needs to be killed."   
Her expression grew grim.

  
"I have made my command clear." she growled. "I will not have him killed." she rose, prepared to leave the room. Before doing such a thing, though, she paused, looking back at them. "Explain to the people that I have chosen to keep him to throw him in the dungeon, where he shall be tortured dawn to dusk. Tell them that a cat of nine tails shall whip his barren back, and his food shall be stale and sought by hungry rats and roaches."

  
Conrad's eyes widened.

  
"You intend to lie to your own people? For the sake of this wretched boy?" he shouted. "The people shall thirst for your blood as well should they discover your deceitfulness! Thou fool!"

  
"A fool calls his leader a fool. If you have appointed me as Archduchess, then you will respect my decision." with that, she departed from the room, her shoulders stiff and her head high. Promptly afterwards, she headed straight to her room once summoning for guards to arrive in the following hour.

  
It was there, inside, she sat at the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands. The Montague boy had not budged from the place she had left him prior to the convention; upon arriving to discover this, she found it eerie. Her mind, however, lingered elsewhere, her chest heavy and her fighting eyes moist. She relieved her stress for a while, her heaves quivering; once she was done, or perhaps wanted more relief, she looked up, gazing at the boy standing beside the door.

  
"Romeo." she called, placing her hand next to her spot on the bed. "I request your companionship." without a word, he looked up at her, then slowly hovered to her side, seating himself cautiously. His body, still stiff, almost hinted at a sign of reluctance. Heaving, she set her temple upon his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his. "The time is nigh, sweet. When the sun sets, guards will arrive here at this door to take you. No matter how hard I wish, no matter how desperately I beg, I cannot keep you near me, as it would spell disaster for the both of us should things not go according to our will. You will reside in the dungeon; please, though, worry not. You shall be kept in a clean and comfortable cell; warm in the winter, cool in the summer. Your food shall be scrumptious, passing my inspection each meal to see whether it is suited for you. I shall visit you as often as time allows me; if no prisoners more reside, I shall request that the guards leave us at peace." she reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "How sounds such? Have you a preference?"

  
His face remained still, gazing into nothingness it seemed.

  
"That offers no explanation as to why you fight to keep yourself from weeping."

  
Quiet, she shook her head with passion, her grip on his arms tightening.

  
"No woman wishes to see her man in a place where she is not allowed to see him whenever she likes. Oh, darling, how I envisioned visions of grand; when I took my place as Archduchess, I would hold you closely every passing day, growing closer when the moon rises. I would bring you everywhere as a child brings his bear, or even if I brought you not, I would grant unto you the freedom to follow me as you pleased..." she closed her eyes, feeling tears well. "Oh, darling... Fate must be cruel to all."

  
"Weep for me not during my absence." he mumbled. "I wish not to see nor hear the people bind your delicate wrist so pale and breakable, nor see your precious neck shoved into the prison of certain death. You can live happily without me, have you not seen? We have not made our vows. Give those vows to another man that deserves you, another man that you deserve." slightly his gaze narrowed. "I promise that you shall not weep when I am absent."

  
She released him, her head departing from his side; she stared at him in terror.

  
"Say no such thing." she said heavily. "With each and every day I regret not being able to visit you so that we may exchange vows." her head sunk. "To assure the strength of our union, I suggest we speak them now, making up for the day we missed."

  
"Make them not, for you shall waste your precious breath." he argued quietly. "I am going soon."

  
"Have I told you not? I shall visit you with every ounce of my leisure time. For what reason do you-"

  
A knock came on the door before she could finish. Quickly, her heart sank, her chest heaving quietly; she united their palms as she rose, tugging him along with her. They exchanged one last look between one another as she eased closer to him; there, rising to the tips of her toes, she softly planted a final kiss upon his lips.

 


	39. Identity

To Juliet's horror, she discovered that being Archduchess was more difficult than she anticipated. Upon her first day of work, she was greeted with several stacks of paper, a jar of fresh ink, and a quill fit for writing. She stared at the mound in horror. When the time came when she decided she would give herself a break hours later, planning to then visit her lover, more things came up. First it was subjects requesting her audience and counsel, then Tybalt more times than not requesting her preference on things as small as how many irises should decor a vase.

  
Once, to her surprise, her entire day was taken when Francisco, Curio, and Antonio flagged her down with a shout.

  
"Your Majesty!" one called, stealing her attention. To her surprise, she found the three marching towards her; strangely, in the hands of Curio and Antonio were art supplies. Francisco, the leader of this pack, smiled, bowed, then flipped his hair over his shoulder.

  
"Good morrow." he greeted humbly. "We have come to make a request."

  
"Oh?" she replied, her voice soft and inviting. "Of what sort?"

  
"Surely you have seen that artworks are created of our dear leaders of old; it is vital that we have our dear artist here, Curio, to create for us a lovely portrait of our Archduchess in her exuberant youth, just weeks after the crown was place rightfully upon her head. Generations hence shall marvel; the Archduchess, Juliet Fiamatta Ars DeCapulet, crowned when she was nearing age seventeen, overcoming the fiendish decent of..."

  
In an instant, her eyes narrowed, reading the word which would follow, making the man freeze in horror.

  
"Fiendish decent of whom?" she asked roughly, aware that he knew her law. Francisco, with a bead of sweat building on his forehead, looked away quickly.

  
"Decent of Leantes of course." he replied. "Leantes was wicked, of course!"

  
"I have made another law." she growled. "Speak ill not of the name of Montague nor Romeo."

  
Antonio rolled his eyes.

  
"And if the boy commits a crime? Are we not allowed to call him a criminal?"

  
Snarling, Juliet shook her head, planting her hands upon her hips.

  
"You know exactly of what I speak." she grumbled. "Speak ill of him not just because he is the son of Leantes. I will not stand idly by and listen to blasphemy towards a boy for something he cannot change. Speak ill of Leantes only and do not group him with his son."

  
Francisco, with another bow, nodded.

  
"Yes, Your Majesty." he spoke. "I beg your utmost pardon."

  
"What say you, Your Majesty?" inquired Curio then. "I would be honored to be the one that would create a portrait of our Archduchess to be remembered for years upon years."

  
Savoring silence, she allowed her shoulders to sink, her eyes shutting.

"I will allow you." she replied neutrally. "Only if it pleases you; I am not vain, I am sure you know."

  
"Of course you are not." said Antonio. "Come now! Let us find a place to have you pose."

  
And so, for the rest of her day, she was sitting, literally doing nothing but staring out into space and trying to relieve stiff muscles. In the end, though, the artwork was what to be expected from the secretly artistic Curio; upon completing it, he raised a brow, nodded, then called it finished. It was surprisingly accurate, little next to nothing out of place. Proud, she pat him on the back with a congratulating smile.

  
By this time, it was growing late, too late for her to pay the Montague boy a visit as she had wanted.

  
Come to find out, she wouldn't pay him a visit for a very long time, longer than she ever intended. Longer than she ever wanted to wait. Work truly got the best of her, so much so that she was exhausted at the end of each day, leaving her ready for sleep and bed. In the large bed she called hers, she lay alone, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion. She lay still, gazing out the window, staring at the moon. Every now and then, she would wonder if the moon would respond if she were to inquire something of it. It didn't.

  
Instead, with a frown, she pulled several pillows from around her, snuggling against them. It was such times such as these, she learned new things about herself, one being the fact that she was not one to wish to be alone no matter how independent she saw herself. The pillows would substitute for her longing, but never would they be her desired cure.

  
For nearly two months, she spent her days tending to question after question, watching as the castle slowly changed according to her will. The halls were clean once more, well-kept and tidy. The garden, flooded with irises, was stained with a pleasant scent. Often, in the midst of the chaos of drama and work, she would rest herself beside the fountain. She had not been around that fountain since the night she had snuck into the ball with Emilia; strangely, it did not reek with a sense of fuzziness or sentiment.

  
It was just a simple fountain, not where she had met him.

  
To her dismay, this went to stress her more so, a hand of running through her bangs. A sense of emptiness welled in her heart. Of course, this emptiness was not all over, it was in a certain section; one which felt important. Tybalt visited her often, a book in his hand and a chunk of charcoal in the other; he wrote every answer she replied to every question he asked her. Sometimes, these questions were easy to answer, others were not.

  
Some inquired if she wanted the halls a certain color.

  
Others inquired of her opinion on debatable topics such as killing criminals as a punishment for their wrongdoings.

  
In the end, she was left burnt, her mind fried. She sat still at her work desk, slipping into a light state of sleep over the umpteenth sheet of paper. Her eye lids grew heavy, so heavy, in fact, that not even standing could sake off their weight. There finally came a point where she heaved a sigh; her mind, delighting to the thought of rest, thought to itself:

  
"Heavens. I am archduchess now, am I not? If I am to have slumber take me captive, who shall punish me besides unseen repercussions?"

  
With that, she plunged into darkness, her head resting atop her arm gently. But little did she know: today was the day she would finally receive a break. It was the day she had wanted for nearly two months.

  
A knock played upon her office door, causing her head to bolt up in a hurry. She gasped, rubbed her eyes, grabbed her quill, positioned her hand, then eyed the postern.

  
"Who at my door is standing?" she inquired, assuming her visitor to be Tybalt. However, to her surprise, a different voice was her answer.

  
"It is I, fair Archduchess, a friend of dearness." it replied softly, awaiting its entrance. Quickly, upon recognizing the tone, she smiled, then raised her head higher.

  
"Oh, please then; come inside."

  
The door slowly swung open, revealing a man in its path doorway. He was somewhat tall, skinny, a quaint little mustache decorating the top of his lips; his blonde hair was neatly combed back, a thumb stroking a small goatee. It was none other than the man named Willy.

  
"Good day to you, fair Archduchess Odina." he chuckled, walking inside. Before her desk, he gave her a small bow. "It has been a long while since I last laid eyes upon you; forgive me for neglecting to visit you even after reclaiming your rightful throne. Dear me am I a man without respect..."

  
"Nay, nay, say that not." she replied strongly. "You are a busy man, Willy. You owe me nothing, not even respect; for the help you have given my men and I over these years... I cannot thank you enough."

  
Willy, with a laugh, shook his head.

  
"I have not come to be praised for hiding you and your loyalists. I am a patriot, don't you recall? If it revives my beautiful country from its desolate slumber, I am filled with glee to make a sacrifice." he moved closer, leaning against her desk gently. From there, he slipped a sheet of paper upon the surface. "Your Majesty, I have come to invite your audience to my latest play; I have a front row seat reserved just for you. Does that come to your liking?"

  
Smiling, she took the paper, observing it; it was a flyer baring a decent amount of artistic quality. Upon it was printed a date, time, title... It looked awfully exciting.

  
"Of course." she replied. "I would be delighted to attend."

  
"Swell!" he chirped, patting her on the head. "I shall look forward to your audience. Your dear friend Emilia is going to be our lead heroine, I feel I should ment..." the man paused, observing her face closely; he frowned, stroking his goatee again.

"Dear me. Your eyes are hard, wearing horrendous purple beneath them; I dare say you are distressed. Exhausted. What is the matter, young one?"

  
The Archduchess sighed; her eyes shut and her head hung.

  
"This is a more difficult occupation than I originally figured. I am tired."

  
"That cannot be all." argued calmly, easing closer. "What stresses you so? I see... Something unfulfilled; a desire that has yet to be humored. It is mixed with affection and longing. You must wish to see someone, perhaps that boy of yours?"

  
"Oh... Willy..."

  
"Yes, that must be it. Surely that is it; thou pitiful thing, wishing for nothing more than a meeting with someone... How long as it been, dear? Is it all this work that is hindering you from visits?"

  
Slowly, defeated, she nodded, heaving a sigh.

  
"It is nearing two months since I saw him last... He resides in the dungeon, for the commoners would not ever care to see him fair freely. I have intended to see him at least once so that I may comfort him... But that has not happened."

  
"Heavens." uttered Willy. "Tragic, I dare say. Tragic indeed. Hmm... Tragedy always does make a good play as well, I've noticed as of late..." he snapped suddenly, waking her further. "Child. Go see him. It is important that our Archduchess has a clear mind while she works, is it not? I would not want a burdened woman making decisions for my country, now, would you?" he chuckled afterwards, watching as her eyes gazed at him curiously.

  
She sighed.

  
"Nay. I would not." she answered briefly. "Decisions of poor are bound to be made should such occur."

  
"Then go, I suggest. I am sure your men would understand your desire to break. If not, please place the blame upon me; I cannot bare watching you struggle."

  
She shook her head quickly.

  
"Nay, Willy, I cannot do such a thing if it puts you at-"

  
"Go! In the name of love, go!" he cried enthusiastically, waving his hands in their air with urgency. "He has been waiting for ages for you! Go, child! Go!"

  
The shouts frightened her to her feet, chills running up her spines. Alarmed, she watched him as he took her by her wrists, gently tugging her along with him. Before long, she started to go along with him, hurrying towards the door with him in following. In doing so, she breathed a word of gratitude, trotting along. Willy accompanied her though, stating he was to make sure she would not change her mind like autumn's wind.

  
They were off, rushing to the dungeon in a strange hurry. People bowed as they passed, just like usual. The numbers became less as they ran along, drawing closer to the halls that turned to cobblestone. Chills rushed down her spine the moment her skin met the coldness of the air, her footsteps turning into echoes. Their surroundings became dark, illuminated by the warm colors of a torch.

  
Before long, after running for what felt like a long while, the two slowed, walking quickly down the halls. The moment they turned around another corner, they were greeted by a guard who stood armed before a doorway to the keep. He eyed them strangely, his spear raised before he gave her a brief bow.

  
"Y-Your Majesty..." he murmured, surprised. "How might I help you today?"

  
"I have come to visit the Montague boy." she replied, slowing her breathing calmly.

  
"And your guest? How might I help him?"

  
Willy stepped forward, sighing.

  
"I am but merely accompanying her. Pay me no mind."

  
The guard relieved his spear, stepping to the side obediently. Strangely, though, his expression looked... Different. Distressed almost, especially as he gazed upon the face of his Archduchess. He watched as she abandoned Willy's side, welcoming herself into the keep; the moment she passed him, he cleared his throat.

  
"Your Majesty?" he asked, drawing her attention. "Are... Are you confident that you wish to visit the Montague boy? Truly?"

  
"Yes, I am quite sure." she frowned. "Be there something amiss? It is your obligation to inform me if so."

  
The guard paled.

  
"R-Rather problematic, my lady. Somewhat. I do not know what to think of it. The boy has been behaving quite outlandish as of late... More outlandish than I have seen in a prisoner, which is a powerful claim I regret to say..."

  
"Tell me the matter. Explain." she demanded urgently, easing closer.

  
"While I do not visit him, I have received word from he that delivers his food that the boy does not act like himself... Rather, a different boy entirely. Sometimes, as I stand guard before the doorway of this keep, I hear him chuckle out from the darkness. Even worse so, I hear him murmuring words as though he converses with another, even when another is not present." he shook briefly. "I oft feel a chill rush down my spine, questioning if the dungeon is cleansed of familiar spirits. Surely he does not communicate with apparitions or devils from the depths, correct?"

  
Narrowing her eyes, The Archduchess walked on, her shoulders stiff.

  
"Nay, he does no such thing." she replied, creeping along into the darkness. "Allow me investigation." concerned, the guard and Willy stayed behind, watching her disappear into blackness, protected only by a single weak torch. Observing the keep, which held many unoccupied cells, she cleared her throat. "Romeo?" she called lightly. "In which cell do you reside? It is I, your darling come to visit you." the lack of response made her heart sink. "My utmost apologies, love; I have not been able to visit you, I know. Work was gotten in the way of our union. Curse it."

  
She heard a shift in the distance, drawing her attention. Slowly, and filled with wonder, she turned around, gazing at the source of the sound. There, in the darkness of a cell, she caught a glimpse of a shadow sifting. Relieved, she eased closer to the bars, peering inside curiously.

  
"There you are." she said, smiling as she knelt before him. "Have you missed me?"

  
Slowly, emerging from the dark, she saw his face revealing itself into the golden light. His green eyes were no longer dead; they were flooded with life and pep. He gazed at her curiously like a child, his lips neutral and filled with wonder. They stared at one another for a great amount of time, that is before she reached inside, cupping his cheek as she always did. The feeling appeared foreign to him; so much so that he pulled away the moment her palm wrapped around him, surprise in his face.

  
"Woman?" he uttered softly. "I recognize you not, woman. Hello. Your greetings are quite outlandish I must say; reaching out and taking a person's face like they are all your darling lovers."

  
His voice, strangely, had much more bounce to it. It was upbeat, cheery almost, and his eyes matched his tone. Shocked, her eyes widened, and her heart paused; for a moment, she stopped to study him. Surely this was her Romeo. Surely that was him. Yes, it was him indeed. His hair was that rich shade of blue, his eyes sea green with that little spec of brown deep inside. His face was fair and smooth as she had recalled it. A familiar scar decorated his neck.

  
A brow dropped, and slowly, she forced a smile on her lips.

  
"Thou jest." she heaved. "Enough with your attempts to confuse me, Romeo. I never knew you to be such a trickster, but my, don't you show experience."

  
He gazed at her, his eyes welling with bewilderment.

  
"...Romeo you called me?" he inquired. Quickly, his lips smoothed into a smile. "Oh dear me, you must have me confused with another; I am not Romeo, I am Petruchio."

 


	40. The Face He Did Not Own

The next thing she knew, she was pacing. Pacing back and forth, her teeth digging into her bottom lip and her feet tapping against the tile of the dining room floor. Her breathing had grown heavy again, her face spreading with a feverish red. Her hands trembled as though she stood unprotected in the tundra.

  
Conrad sat at the table, his arms crossed, eyeing Cordelia, a privileged servant. Curio, partnered by Francisco, Tyablt, and Willy, watched her with concern in their eyes; the hopelessness in her appeared to rub off on them. Stretching, the elderly man cleared his throat, observing his Archduchess thoroughly.

"Your Majesty." he sounded, unable to break her from her pace. "I am greatly somber to hear this news, but I-"

  
"I am convinced not." she growled. "There is no such thing as a man changing his identity. It is impossible for one to become a new person in only two months time at the most. I refuse to believe. I refuse to believe that body does not house the soul of my Montague boy. Nay, it is impossible!"

  
Quickly, a new man rose to his feet; the local doctor, Lancelot. Careful, he adjusted the glasses atop his eyes, giving her a slight bow in approaching.

  
"My Archduchess. I feel the need to inform you... Such a thing is possible. It is possible for a man to trick himself into believing he is another. With great sorrow I say to you that such a condition requires years of great stress on the mind; it is what I dub a defense mechanism, a way in which people cope with a troubled soul."

  
"He was not troubled." she hissed back. "I gave him my word that I would be there for him, that I would let not harm more come his way! How many burdens more did he have to shoulder when I lifted them all from him?"

  
Somewhat frightened, the doctor bowed once again.

  
"Forgive me, I know nothing of the boy and what sorts of burdens he has hanging aloft his head, but... I have told you the most I know. It is a condition, Your Majesty; there is something sincerely wrong with him. I truly regret to inform you, but the truth should not be hid."

  
She stilled, her head hanging heavily. Though none could notice, tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill. However, she was aware she had to power her way through it all.

  
"Apologize not." she muttered, her voice cracking. "You are not to blame..." the bridge of her nose wrinkled, and her teeth clacked together in fury. "It is the fault of that damn boy, that damn boy that has christened himself Petruchio... He is a thief. He has stolen my boy." her fists clenched. "I shall not stand idly and not do anything about such! Doctor! Tell me there is a way to fix this confounded mishap!"

  
Again, Lancelot bowed.

  
"I have seen this case rarely." he replied. "Whether or not there is a cure differs with each patient; sometimes, if there is a cure, even the manner of obtaining it differs. In short, there is not direct formula as there is with other illnesses. This is an illness of the mind, Your Majesty; illness of mind is not fixed by simply mixing herbs in liquids and drinking it." he sighed. "I feel guilt watching this drama unfold; seldom have any similar patiences left behind family that grieve their loss. Oft, they are alone, unsheltered, and under-nurtured both physically and emotionally."

  
"I do not deem that an excuse." she growled, turning around as she made her way to the door, she cleared her throat. "This convention is dismissed. Return to your work."

  
The moment she opened the door, entering the foyer, her eyes landed upon Antonio, who sat on a couch across the room. He was smiling, laughing as he looked at the neighbor sitting beside him; he was a boy prepared to leap into manhood, tall and lanky, blue hair and green glowing eyes... She frowned at the sight, leading her to approach them with fury building in her gaze.

  
"Juliet! Juliet!" called Antonio upon laying eyes on her. "Come sit if no duties need tending, I would fancy your meeting of my friend anew: Petruchio."

  
She gazed at the boy at his side, her gaze narrowing. He looked just like him. But it wasn't him.

  
Carefully, he rose, smiling at her as he bowed.

  
"Good morrow, Your Majesty." he greeted, taking her hand to plant a kiss upon it. "I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier, calling your greetings outlandish when you took my face. You may do whatever you wish to me; I meant no disrespect, for I knew not of who you were and your position." he grinned when spying upon her angering face. "My, look at this; a beautiful Archduchess, whose hand which I am holding and kissing. What a true honor is is to meet you, My Lady."

  
Without a second in between, she slapped his hands from hers, grabbed his wrist, then towed him away. Antonio, confused as Petruchio, watched in surprise as the two disappeared down a hall. Though he was puzzled, Petruchio did not struggle, nor attempt to free himself from her grasp. Rather, he went along with her nervously, sensing the fury emitting from her.

  
She threw open the doors to her chambers, drug him inside, then slammed them behind her, staring at him in the silence that followed. Petruchio, nervous, slouched his posture, backing away slowly with a pair of wide eyes. Slowly, she closed in on him, her fists clenched. Finally, with his back against the wall, she stood before him, gazing angrily into his eyes. When her face drew frighteningly near, he squirmed away.

  
"P-Please Your Majesty..." he uttered nervously. "I have a wife. I must abstain from adultery lest she shall surely love me no more."

  
"A wife." The Archduchess echoed roughly. "What be her name?"

  
"Forgive me, I cannot recall at the moment... Dear me, My Archduchess, have I done something to offend you? Oh please accept my utmost apology if so! I do not wish nor mean to disrespect you and your majesty; you are our Archduchess, you deserve no disrespect!"

  
She narrowed her eyes.

  
"I am very angry with you." she replied simply. "Return Romeo at once."

  
"R-Return?" he echoed, shivering as he tried to escape. "I... I do not know this Romeo of which you speak, I beg your pardon. As I said before, you have me confused with another."

  
Growling, she stared at him harder as her hands traveled down to his shirt, which she unbuttoned roughly. With a flush on his face, Petruchio gasped, stiffening when cold air hit his barren chest. She observed him with a grimace, running her finger over the familiar scars. Her mind recalled what she had been told:

  
The one from Arturo's hound.

  
The spots from falling from trees on hot summer days.

  
The brand of commoner's switchblades.

  
The fingernails of his father.

  
The sweltered patches from candle wax.

  
She ran her hand over each of them with gentleness, tears welling in her eyes again, her lips threatening to quiver. If she ever had any doubt this man was not her Romeo, they would be vanquished now, seeing spots that could not be replicated. She sighed bitterly, pressing her face against his chest, grabbing the side of his open shirt into a fist.

  
"I do not have you confused." she wept, tugging on either side of his top. "I am full of sorrow."

  
Petruchio gazed at her, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open.

  
"F-Forgive me... For causing such sorrow unto you... Your Majesty." he whispered. "I still know not of what you speak, however..."

  
She wrapped her a rounds around him, weeping more, sucking in air hungrily as though she had been starved of it.

  
"I want him back." she cried. "Give him back, I beg. Come back."

  
Her sorrows were in vain; when she released him from her chambers minutes later, he left the same boy as he was before: Petruchio, not Romeo. Left alone, she sat herself at the edge of her bed, still as a statue, tears streaming down her cheeks. She shut her red eyes tightly, clutching either side of her head with pressure. With no other choice, she turned to God with a prayer.

  
The following day, The Archduchess refused departure from her room, joining herself with her bed. Many came in and out to visit her, hoping to coax her to the outside, all of which had no effect on her position. Conrad was the first to come, seating himself at the edge of her bed, running a hand through her red locks. Tyablt was next, carrying his book and charcoal; he did not stay long, sensing a vibe which told him to leave. Cordelia was the third, possibly the closest to causing her to rise; however, like the rest, she failed, even when The Archduchess had rustled about in her blankets.

  
Her eyes were somber, so noticed every single one of them. Not a single mind wondered the reason; rather, they watched Petruchio from a distance when they left The Archduchess alone. Grinning everyday in an alien tunic, red as blood, Petruchio had made friends quickly, smiling all the time; he was the closest with the young Antonio, who followed him about the castle. They practiced their swordplay in the courtyard often; it was obvious that Petruchio had no experience with a blade, such led to Antonio's tutoring of him. When they became bored of that, they would run to and play games in the fields, careful not to trample crops. When all was said and done, they would join the servants in the mess hall for lunch, laughing and talking.

  
Quite obviously, Petruchio loved people, and people loved him.

  
The Archduchess received reports of his whereabouts and doings often, each leading her eyes to dull more and more. Seldom did she rise from the safety of her covers; when she did, it was to eat meals delivered to her, bathe, and walk out on her balcony for fresh air. None took well to this depressed form of the girl they always knew to have a strong and outgoing personality. They did not visit her after a while, leaving her alone.

  
Cordelia was the only one that continued to press on with her.

  
"It is like the two of you switched places." she commented one day, sitting on her bed next to her laying form. "He is chirpy as a lark and you spend your days in bed, gazing dully out the window."

  
She continued to frown.

  
"It is like he has died." she replied dully. "Gone. Gone forever."

  
"Perhaps it is the best for him." she muttered with a sigh. "He was a tortured existence in the end."

  
"All he wanted was one to be for him. Someone to fight for. Someone that would fight for him. He always fawned over his mother for the longest of times, believing she supported him in all his ways, even in death... But I recall the devastation which spread across his face when I informed him of her alliance with us, the Capulets." she brought a hand up to her face. "I understand not. I assured to give him what he desired: a companion. And yet... And yet he... He changes. He leaves me. Were we not together in this world? Was he not my companion? Did he not trust me? Did he not see me as satisfactory?"

  
Cordelia laid a hand upon her, squeezing softly.

  
"Nay, I doubt such to be our culprit... I believe it was something else perhaps. He may have simply given up."

  
"I recall him wishing for me to find another mate." she whispered. "I now wonder if he said such a thing because he had already planned to leave. He said... That he did not deserve me, and that I deserved so much more. I do not understand. Wherefore could he not see that I desired him more than anything? More than a petty crown or a grand castle?"

  
The woman turned away, gazing elsewhere in the room. She lowered her shoulders.

  
"He may be fulfilling his wishes now, do keep in mind." she commented. "He is living a happy life as this Petruchio character; he is friends with most everyone who roams that castle and is getting healthier each and every day. If you love him, you should be happy for him."

  
Her brows furrowed.

  
"I do not love Petruchio." she growled. "He has stolen the body of my boy. He is a thief. He is holding my boy captive somewhere in the depths of his mind, somewhere I am convinced is out of my reach. His face is full of deceit, making my heart flutter when I spy upon him, believing I am gazing upon my husband. He is not him. He has stolen him, if not killed him. I will make sure to kill him if that is so. He is not fulfilling the desires of my Romeo, he is stealing the life that he so desired. I shall not stand and permit him success."

  
Cordelia's eyes softened, and her hand, light, stroked the girl's soft auburn hair.

  
"Dear me." she breathed. "Hardheaded as always. Sometimes, girl, your determination frightens me." she stopped suddenly when The Archduchess' hands wandered up, catching her own, then pulling them in front of her eyes. With her gaze narrowing she observed the woman's callused fingers.

  
"Curious." she sounded. "You bare a foreign ring upon your wedding finger."

  
On a dime, Cordelia flushed, turning her head away quickly.

  
"Heavens." she commented. "Now is a bad time to explain, My Archduchess."

  
"Nay, tell me."

  
"It is Benvolio of the House of Frescobaldi. I am sure you know him, do you not? He has spoken of you an occasion or so. He is the cousin of the Montague boy."

  
Her eyes widened.

  
"Yes, what of him?" she inquired, suddenly interested. Cordelia retracted her hand, fondling with the ringer of gold wrapped around her finger.

  
"You see... I have been visiting with him as of late, normally during the dark hours of night when I am relieved of work. We have become close after this short while, and I sense a gentle and sympathetic young man..."

  
"He has proposed?" she asked, beginning to smile. With her flush deepening, Cordelia sighed.

  
"Indeed, he has." she replied, her head sinking. "I have intended to ask of your permission to wed, but... This whole ordeal has made it terribly inappropriate. I refused to ask, and Benvolio has advised against it as well. He is a patient man, I am happy to say; he said he would wait as long as we needed to for the times to better for you and your dilemma."

  
The Archduchess brought herself up, her eyes widening.

  
"Cordelia!" she exclaimed gleefully, wrapping her arms around the woman's shoulders. "What joy becomes of me! I give you my dearest congratulations, friend of old. Thou jest, believing I would not approve because of my own mishaps... Nay I am not selfish as so. I give you utmost permission; Benvolio shall make a wonderful husband, I believe."

  
And so, for the first time in a long while, The Archduchess departed from her room, all in the name of attending Cordelia's wedding. It was nothing outrageously expensive; it was simple and happy, taking place in the small church in the district of the commoners. The audience was small, but meaningful, not a word in opposition of their union sounded, but a roar of applause came to be when the love was complete. The reception was happy back at the castle with a room full of cheer. The ballroom was where it was held; a collaboration of dancers gathered at the main floor.

  
No longer did the mural of The Fall of Capulet linger over their heads; it been painted over, replaced with a rich shade of crimson. In place of roses were irises. The Archduchess was content at the time, mingling with her fellows, including the newly weds, with a smile on her face. She laughed at stories, she drank juice lightly, shaking the hands of people that approached her, then promptly directing the attention to those who needed it.

  
She was happy.

  
That is, until he came into view.

  
Through the windows of a crowd's shoulders, she caught eye of his blue hair. There he was, standing before Tyablt, chatting up a storm. Did her eyes deceive her? Tybalt took well to their conversation, laughing on rare occasions.

  
The sight sent a pang to her heart, her head pounding with nausea; she wandered away from the dance floor, trying not to stumble. She disappeared outside to the garden, where she sat herself at the base of the trickling fountain, holding her head with a hand. It was a painful type of feeling both in her heart and in her skull; she was sure that the former wrought more pain than the latter.

  
She sat there for a good while, holding her head down, clutching it. Shame clouded in her eyes; now was no time for her to be outside, weeping to herself because of her own problems. Tonight was a special night, was it not? It was the night she was to celebrate to wedding of her closest friend, a night that shall never come again for her to lavish. She wanted to return back inside to applause with the rest of her subjects, to pay witness to a time in her life that brought mounds of joy; how she wanted to be the one with the honors of bidding the newlyweds a good night.

  
No such thing would happen.

  
"Your Majesty?"

  
Her head shot up in shock, and her eyes wide. Had her ears deceived her? No, they had not. There, walking towards her, was a boy just a little elder than she, dressed in a quaint tunic colored a deep shade of red. His green eyes told of concern as he spied upon her, his steps towards her cautious, almost hesitant. In an instant, her nausea dissipated, replaced by a mixture of sorrow and anger, as she rose to her feet to meet him.

  
"What do you meddle here for?" she demanded.

He paused, gazing at her curiously.

  
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I... I watched you leave the ballroom clutching your head as though you had an ache. I came with the intention of investigating your wellbeing, I swear by such." he looked up to her. "Are you well, My Archduchess?"

  
She stiffened.

  
"Nay, I am not, boy." she replied. "I am not well."

  
"Boy? Oh, I do beg your pardon, I have introduced myself, have I not? My name is Pe-"

  
"Uttering that confounded name of yours will sicken me more so." she growled, turning to eye the fountain. "Tell me; this scene strokes a familiar vibe, does it not? On the eve of a party, next to this lovely fountain beneath a crescent moon, you and I encounter one another alone without a single soul to bother us." she narrowed her eyes. "Does this sort of set up mean anything to you?"

  
He gazed at her, puzzled. Quiet, he observed the scene with pleasure, drinking in the scents of the abundance of irises, listening to the trickling waters of the fount; his eyes looked up to the night sky, exchanging stares with the watchful moon.

  
"It is a lovely night." he replied calmly. "But it does not remind me of anything, I'm afraid. Perhaps it holds significance to you, My Archduchess?"

  
Her face reddened, her fists clenching in fury. With her shoulders knotted, her legs took her away, heading back to the ballroom.

  
"This is blasphemy." she uttered. At the instant, he caught her wrist gently, holding it with urgency. When she turned to meet his gaze she found a pair of wide sea green eyes. He trembled just a pinch as he stood before her.

  
"Oh please, Your Majesty." he whispered, bowing before her. He planted a kiss upon the roof of her palm. "I offer my utmost apologies. I meant no disrespect whatsoever, I swear by it. I am so sorry I cause such discord in your heart. I know not why you are so terribly somber at the sight of he who is me, I beg that you accept my apology and at least acknowledge the fact that I do not say these things out of hate or sorrow or a need to disgrace."

  
"Prove it then." she hissed. "If you have decided to steal the body of my husband, then you will change your looks. The next time my eyes spy upon you, I should have difficulty recognizing you, lest you shall surely be thrown into the dungeon. Am I clear?"

  
He dipped his head, nodding, his hands trembling.

  
"Yes ma'am." he whimpered. "I shall do such."

  
And so, the next time she did spy upon him, he had changed.

  
Cordelia and Benvolio had been married for two weeks now, the excitement aroused around the event dying down; all returned to their normal day to day lives, running about the castle, maintaining it with care. Juliet had departed from her room since, reverting to her normal Archduchess responsibilities. When the time for her break had come on day, she departed from the indoors and set herself in the courtyard to drink in a healthy dose of sunlight.

  
It was there, wading in the pond with a laughing Antonio, she saw the face of her boy.

  
His eyes were bright and cheery, a smile on his face; he had changed relatively so, sporting a different type of attire. The most eye catching detail was his blue hair, now parted in half by the handiwork of water and a comb. It was very different in comparison Romeo's choice of hair. For just a moment, her chest became heavy, but only for a moment, for Petruchio had pulled his head up; their eyes met. He grinned, offered a wave, then bowed.

  
"Good morrow, Your Majesty!" he called. "Have you faired well these past few days?"

  
"Petruchio, thou fool!" cried Antonio. "Your shouts frighten the fish away! How else are we to catch them with our bare hands when they continue to flee?" before he knew it, his hand had shoved the boy forwards; Petruchio fell face first into the water with a shout. Upon resurfacing, she heard a fit of laughter rousing from the boy. The two spent a while in their own little game, growing more soaking than before; at last, though, there came a moment in which Petruchio caught eye of her once again. He departed from the pond, then rushed towards her with water spilling off his body along each step.

  
"Lo." he said before her. "I may not look it due to my wetness, but I have changed myself as you commanded of me. Have I reached your satisfaction?"

  
While crossing one leg over the other, she frowned.

  
"Not a thing you do shall ever satisfy me." she grumbled. "Leave."

  
His mouth dropped into a frown, and, slowly, he walked away, soon turning his back to run to Antonio.

 


	41. In the Same World as You

The Archduchess had been awful curious as of late; she wandered about the castle, keeping her eyes peeled for a young boy named Antonio. Antonio, likewise as Cordelia, was a good friend of hers, having served as her well-needed sidekick of the Red Whirlwind. Sometimes, when she was away at work, he would come visit her, hanging out in her office with a smile. As of late, though, he had been absent from her sights, causing her wonder. However, another wonder was what drove her to try to rediscover him herself. After much search, she found the boy alone in the room he shared with his grandfather, his little nose buried in a thick book. Upon laying eyes upon him, she sucked in a heave of breath, then called out to him.

 "Antonio?" she asked, causing his head to lift curiously. "I've an inquiry: for what reason do you take well to Petruchio?"

 And thus began her search for answers; the reason why everyone was so fond of this Petruchio character she would never be fond of. She ran all over the castle, asking every single person she knew the names of.

 Antonio liked Peturchio because he was friendly and easy going, normally willing to play any game he proposed or cared to.

 Conrad was neutral over him; he spoke his opinion, stating that he took well to him due to his obedient nature.

 Cordelia shrugged, explaining that she had not had many encounters with him. The little she had, though, were somewhat fine, leaving her seeing a pleasant boy.

 Curio looked away and set his practice blade down, saying that he was a reasonable person to speak to.

 Francisco flipped his hair over his shoulder, smiled, then sighed. Apparently, he saw much potential in him to be a lady's man much like himself. He then considered mentoring him.

 Tybalt continued writing in his schedule book, licking a lip before rolling his head around his shoulders; the two had conversed often, becoming close.

 Willy, who had hung around the castle for a few days more, twisted his facial hair with an index and a thumb. He was perhaps the only one who had wishes similar to hers: that he would revert back to his true self.

 In the end, the period of questioning only led her to one conclusion; unlike the Montague boy, who was dreaded and hated, Petruchio was loved, almost popular, by the people of her castle. Sometimes, when she passed by the lobby, he was always chatting up a storm with somebody, whether they be a simple servant or a fellow knight. Every person, a foreign face most of the time, seemed content in speaking with him.

 An emptiness continued to well in her chest, leaving her alone at her desk, gazing blankly over a sheet of paper. Her eyes were half open, her lips arching into a steep frown; before long, a pair of fingers began to message the temple of her head softly, hoping to relieve her stress. It was then, when she thought she was alone for the night, the door knocked again.

 Her head looked up, gazing at the postern curiously before granting the knocker permission to enter. Her visitor, Willy, trudged into the room; strangely, not a single pack of papers was being lugged in his arms; rather, he came inside with a smile, his fists on his hips with pride.

 "Good night, My Archduchess." he greeted, bowing. "How might you fair? The moon is quite lovely tonight, though almost full; the lunatics are soon to come out I am sure; I do advise you stay inside for the sake of yourself."

 "Good night, Willy." she replied, sighing. "I fair fine. Thank you for your warnings."

 Approaching her desk, Willy kept a gentle gaze, sure to seat himself before her. There, with a fist propping his chin, he observed her closely.

 "You do not seem as well as you claim, I dare say." he replied. "Still upset, I see."

 "Two month's time does no healing." she whispered. "I still bare no fondness towards him. That is why I am considering a way to solve it."

 Willy raised a brow.

 "Oh really now?" he inquired, intrigued. "I am sure you would like to discuss it before putting it into action?"

 "I trust you, Willy." she sighed. "Very much so, I trust you. Please, tell me the truth should you believe you see a fault in it, or if you simply disagree with the conjecture of its effectiveness. I will not be angry with you no matter what you dare to say." she paused, dipping her head. Her shoulders raised tensely. "I am going to execute a royal order in the next Court of Lords convention: I shall ban the association and conversation with he that has stolen the body of the Montague boy. It is this action, I believe, that will induce his true mind to return, removing that fake puppet that has taken it."

 Willy, surprised it seemed, sat up in his chair, his eyes widening as the pad of a finger tapped his jaw.

 "Dear me." he whispered. "How risky. You saw, did you not? That sort of treatment already made a monster out of the former personality; if you are not cautious, you may accidentally create another out of the second."

 She frowned.

 "Never was he a monster. He was a scared creature that had power he did not know how to control." she eyed away. "Had you met him and listened to his heart song, you would have understood his plight more so. Look at him now, though, trapped in a prison, invaded by a stranger that has stolen all he has..."

 Willy, releasing a sigh, closed his eyes in hesitation, his lips sealed shut. Out of curiosity, she watched him, waiting for a word to be uttered by his wise mouth, words that were always connected to his mind. The words were not what she expected of him.

 "Well." he leaned back in his seat casually, relaxing. "You are Archduchess, My Lady, therefore you are who ultimately makes the final decision, not I. You must grow used to such a thing; having to make difficult choices in the heat of tension." "Oh? You cannot help me? Be there a law that prevents me from calling counsel?"

 "Nay, that would be your advisor's duty, My Lady." Willy chuckled. "Call him."

 "Nay." The Archduchess frowned. "My advisor is fond of he that has stolen my boy; they have grown close after much conversation. He would advise against any sort of treatment designed to drive him away."

 With a shrug, Willy raised his brows.

 "Hm. A fascinating predicament." he commented lowly. "Perhaps you should let him stay then. Many have grown close to him, correct? What sort of harm would it do for him to suddenly disappear? Would it not be selfish to take him away to have the Montague boy return for your sake?"

 "That boy is not he! How many times is required that I repeat myself? That boy has stolen the body and mind of one that has grown believing he is a condemned bastard and lives the life he has forever coveted!" she rose from her seat, shoving it back roughly. "If I have taken him as husband, it should go without question that I support him should anything come against him. I shall do just so! I shall not let that vile thing prosper in the ashes of the one I love!" and with that, she marched her way out of the office, her shoulders raised with tension and fury. In doing so, she passed Willy by, simply uttering: "I am to call a convention now, pardon my leaving of you."

 Left alone in the room, Willy crossed one leg over the other, gazing blankly out the window on the wall; the outside was dark, not a thing could be seen. Nonetheless, he set a finger on his chin in thought. He heaved a sigh.

 "As you wish, Your Majesty." he whispered.

 Before time knew it, the Court of Lords meeting was held. Many were pulled out of bed for the occasion, for which The Archduchess gave a simple apology; not a single soul that roamed the castle wasn't absent for the meeting... All except for a certain boy in question, who lay asleep on a couch in the foyer.

 At the highest seat in the house, The Archduchess presented her command, listening to the choir that followed. Some were angry, others questioning. Despite anything they said, though, she then presented the punishment that should follow the breaking of the command: death. Of course, it was but merely a bluff, seeing that she could never chop the head off a person for simply speaking to a man... But she was confident there would be punishments a man would never care to undergo.

 It was a strange feeling, seeing all of the people obey her even though they did not want to. It was a frightening feeling that filled her with a remarkable sense of authority; almost God-like authority. It scared her, so much so that she was tempted to lock it in a box and seal it away forever so that she would never reach a point in which she abused it.

 She slept well that night, enjoying uninterrupted dreams of she and her boy sharing a pleasant evening together. It was warm, the warmest feeling she had ever felt; it was something she knew she could quickly grow addicted to, addicted like a drunkard to wine. It did her no good, but it brought much pleasure, so much pleasure, in fact, that when she awoke in the morning, she found herself swooning along, gazing out the window with a sigh.

 Then she dared to rouse.

 She surveyed her castle that morning, wandering about. A certain person was in mind, someone she wanted to see. This was odd given the fact that she never wanted to see him beforehand. And, sure enough, after a little while of searching, she saw him wandering around, alone. She watched him from a distance as he approached someone, a random castle-dweller; his lips moved, uttering words, asking questions that received no reply. The person acted as though he was no longer there, as though he was nothing but a spirit.

 She saw his head drop, then turn to the side. Their eyes met. His widened. Following instinct, she turned away, then proceeded to venture elsewhere in the castle. It was there, of course, she would continue watching him, this time in secret, hiding behind corners and spying from high up windows. Nobody questioned her odd behavior, seeing that she was Archduchess, but never did that stop strange gazes as they passed.

 The boy continued to do the same as he had before, wandering from soul to soul, talking, asking to himself; each person, without fail, followed her order obediently. This, to her shock, even included the young Antonio, who sat that the pond's edge, clutching a fishing rod. No matter how many times Petruchio tapped his shoulder to toed his back, the boy did not budge, nor utter a word. With his head sinking, Petruchio left him then, seeing that he received no answer.

 This pattern continued for a long while, a week to be exact, and none dared to break her law; this brought into her a sense of relief, then wonder. The effects were taking a while to settle in, to her surprise; either Petruchio was very stubborn in returning his position to its rightful owner, or Petruchio was deeply rooted in control. Which one it was, she was not entirely sure. Nonetheless, she continued on with the treatment, never even considering to give in.

 Then, there came one day... Or night that should be said. Cordelia had just finished replacing laundry in The Archduchess' wardrobe, enjoying a nice chat with her in the meantime. Upon finishing, shutting a final drawer, the woman rose, straightened her back, then set her hands in her hips as she heaved a sigh.

 "Well then." she started. "That should be all, Juliet. I'd best be going now; my darling is surely wondering where my whereabouts stray."

 She smiled at her from her mirror, where she sat running a brush through her long, straight locks. Looking over her shoulder, he shut her eyes.

 "Best of nights to you, Cordelia. Many thanks for your favors."

 "They're simply my job." sighed the woman. "Excuse me if you will."

 And with such, The Archduchess was left in her room, alone with the silence as she continued on with her brush. The crickets outside were chirping, in an orchestra of creaks in the night. She liked them, soon deciding to pause to listen with a smile. Soon, after blowing out her candle, she found herself sprawled across her bed, breathing softly with a leg crossed over another.

 Then suddenly, to her surprise, a knock played on the door, drawing her head up. Full of wonder, she gazed at the postern, her eyes wide. Most likely, it was Cordelia again, having forgotten something. Believing this to be the case, the jumped from her bed, then went to the door her hand laid itself on the cold metal of the handle, she twisted it, peering through the crack.

 Her heart froze.

 There, in the darkness of the hall, she spied upon the sea green eyes of the Montague boy. Even through the night, she could see that he gazed at her sternly, sending chills up her spine. Instantly, goosebumps broke out all down her barren arms, then to her legs, and her eyes narrowed with prejudice.

 "Good night." she said. "How might I be of help to thee?"

 "I have come to converse. Might I be granted entrance?" he forced his voice into politeness, restraining an obvious hint of anger. Her back hunched immediately; it seemed as though he was angry for something, something she was sure she knew the reason for...

 "It is late." she commented. "Might we converse when the sun arises?"

 "Nay." he replied strictly. "I wish to speak now. I feel I should mention I've a message to deliver for someone."

  The Archduchess shut her eyes, lulling herself into a sigh; she set her head against the door, breathing in, breathing out, her expression radiating hesitation. At last, though, she opened her entrance wider, inviting him inside.

 "Very well so then." she replied softly. Instantly, Petruchio walked in, shutting the door roughly behind him. There, standing against the door, he gazed angrily into her eyes. Noticing the tension in him, she raised a brow, frowning. "I feel I should remind you that I am Archduchess; should you try anything foolish on or around me, you can expect a gruesome punishment."

 "I have not come to do anything to you." he growled. "Romeo forbad me."

 Her eyes widened quickly, her heart still. With a gasp, she stood there, gazing at him with shock; her lips fell open, but they would not allow her to utter a thing.

 "Wh..."

 "Do not believe I am oblivious to your demands." he grumbled. "None have told me, but I have discovered that you executed an order, that none shall communicate or associate with me. I am upset with this order, seeing that I have done nothing against thee. If you dare to call yourself a fair ruler, you would best reconsider this law quickly."

 "I have done so because I am going to bring back my boy." she replied sternly. "You have committed an atrocity: stealing the body he lived in, then living the life he worked to have."

 Slowly, he approached her, his shoulders wide and square; for just a moment, it intimidated her. She stood her ground, though, a frown on her face.

 "Archduchess," he spoke. "Romeo gave me the permission to take his body. He does not want to come back."

 She felt her eyes narrow again.

 "Wherefore?" she inquired roughly.

 "He was tired." Petruchio replied. "He was tired and hurting. He was ready to rest."

 With her shoulders stiff, she felt her hands ball into fists; tears threatened to build in her eyes, and unfortunately, she allowed them to flow.

 "He was soon to be my mate." she heaved, her tone crackling. "How can he possibly be tired?" "Romeo told you to find another mate, did he not?" asked he. "He wanted to see you happy, happier than you would be having to deal with him day to day."

 "Nay!" she exclaimed. Her hand shot towards him, where she took the collar of his shirt; she yanked his face to hers, drawing him close enough to where he could hear each angered heave. "He cannot do such! He cannot propose to me, asking that I be his wife, then leave with a statement which says I find another to be my husband! Nay! He cannot do such!" he gazed into his eyes piercing through them like a knife. "I know you listen, boy, Montague boy. I want you to come back here now! Do not run like a confounded coward! That is not what you are! Come back and live the life we planned to live as mates!" tears streamed down her cheeks. "Do you truly doubt my love so?" Like her, he also wept. His tears were bitter, sad almost, morphing his speech into whimpers.

 "He listens not." he claimed, to which The Archduchess tightened her grip.

 "Yes he does." she argued.

 "He does not listen!"

 "Yes! He does!"

 "Nay!"

 "Yea!"

 In the heat of the moment, her anger and sorrow mixed into a devastating brew, her hands released his shirt, only to grab either side of his skull; she pulled him into her face, where their lips crashed together.

 The room fell silent, and the two stilled, both relaxing, their shivering dying down. Tears continued to stream down faces, wetness from one pressing on wetness from another. They did not break for a long while, their breathing heavy, their eyes shut with pain.

 When the time came in which they did break, she kept close, as if promising to draw herself in for another. Her breath quivered with passion.

 "I know you are there, my darling." she whispered softly. "That was a gift for you to feel, for you to love, for you to lavish. Savor it, I beg, for within it you shall taste the sweetness of my affections. Please, will you not return these favors with some of your own?"

 His breathing became heavy. His hands traveled to his skull, where he gripped it tightly. He ripped himself away from her, stumbling in his walk. He hunched over, grunting, moaning in misery as he buried his nails in his scalp. Worried, she watched as he wandered away, resting himself in the corner of the room.

 There, he remained for what felt like an eternity.

 She found herself laying in her bed again, her back turned to the corner where he resided. Often, she found herself fighting sleep, fearing something may happen while she was away... Something she would not want to miss. Something like her boy calling out to her, begging for help or a coo.

 Unfortunately, the fight was not a fight she could possibly win; she slipped off into the realm of her mind, where things that made no sense made perfect sense. Her judgement was cloudy, hazy like a day promising rain. She saw that little boy again, the little boy with the blue hair. He sat in front of her, watching her watch him. He rose to his feet before long, then gave a smile; he held out his arms, asking for an embrace.

 Before she awoke, she granted it to him.

 When she awoke, she awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of her bed, making her mouth drop into a frown. She rolled over, facing the stranger with a pair of cloudy eyes. It was still dark out, the crickets chirping and the moon peeking inside. The moon was what helped her see her intruder.

 The weight became heavier as it slowly climbed beneath the covers, its actions apparently hesitant. Her eyes widened before long; a knee had been placed on either side of her hip, a hand on either side of her head. When she gazed up, she saw the glowing of sea green, dull and glassy as a void. Yet deep down... Under all that muck and grime... She saw gentleness.

 Slowly, he dipped his head down like a beast to take in water; he gently set his lips upon hers then, lingering. Upon release, she heaved a gentle sigh, then brought her arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him in close; she nuzzled herself into his nape, closing her eyes peacefully.

 "Romeo, my boy... Welcome back." a sigh was her response. She smiled softly. "I do not expect to see this Petruchio fellow anymore, now..."

 He nodded briefly.

 "Yes." he whispered.

 "And the commoners? They will not touch you ever again." she proceeded to rub his back gently, to which she knew he took well. "And if they come against our union, they shall learn to accept it. And should they start an uprising because they cannot accept it, we shall flee the land... I will leave my cousin the crown then, and we shall never again be heard from."

 He lowered himself atop her, distributing his weight evenly across her body. He was a little heavy, but not terribly; she smiled, drinking in his scent.

 "I apologize." he whispered. "A husband should never leave his wife... I have already failed as your spouse."

 She embraced him tightly, continuing to message his back; in doing so, she shook her head.

 "Nay, nay, thou jest." she cooed. "You are not yet my husband on the technical side, seeing that we have not made our vows. You have not failed me just yet." she ran her hand through his hair, ruffling it back to how it once was. "When shall we make them, my dear?"

 His eyes widened in surprise as he slowly lifted his head, staring at her. His lips quivered nervously, beginning to smile humbly.

 "Why not now... With God as our witness?" She smiled at the idea.

 And so, the night concluded with them rushing into fancy clothing, preparing themselves side by side in the washroom. Wearing their best, they stood on the balcony, hand in hand, their heads drawing near; it was then, underneath the moonlight, they announced their titles, God as their witness as they had wished.

 Not a single night would crown the one which was this.

 Candlelight allowed them consummation, the doors and windows lending their privacy. The canopy assisted the doors and windows, concealing them further. They were quiet even so, leaving no reason to be guarded by intruders; none would investigate this late -or early- in the darkness, but they were much too lost in their own little world... lost in paradise... To bother throwing a care.

 Their gentleness ended happily, leaving the two curled against one another, bodies stealing the other's well-needed warmth. It was an upbeat exchange which continued all night long, even in their slumber. Both dreamt happy dreams until dawn broke.

 

 Conrad was the first to find them together, entering The Archduchess' chambers after a knock on the door. He peered inside cautiously after calling her name a time or two; when no answer aroused, he ventured inside, his face curious the moment his eyes landed on the closed canopy surrounding the bed. His footsteps were careful and silent against the tile, his boots leaving only a slight echo. Upon reaching the bed's side, he quietly brushed a curtain away from his view, where he carefully peered inside. His eyes widened upon seeing the sight.

 Two heads peeked out of the border of the blankets, resting on the same pillow. They were close, their bodies more than likely to be intertwined; on she, he saw a hint of a barren shoulder, on he, he saw a hint of a barren chest. With a sigh, he elder averted his gaze and shut the curtain, a frown spreading across his lips.

 He mumbled to himself as he walked away:

 "So the boy has returned and she has made her choice..." he opened the door. "The Sword and the Shield have always been destined to prosper, that is until the days in which we live..." He shut it behind him. "May God bless these lovers, even during the mishaps that await them."

     

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, friends. It only took me forever to get it here.  
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this piece of mine; if you have anything to say, please let me know in the comments.  
> Have a wonderful day.


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